


Memories of Light

by Writingfish (idraax)



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: HIV/AIDS, Multi, Rape Recovery, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:12:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 27,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7449232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idraax/pseuds/Writingfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne gets caught up in a hostage situation at a bank. This is what comes after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Results

**Author's Note:**

> This will not make much sense as I'm writing the au out of order. The outline is [here](http://writingfish.tumblr.com/post/146894786590/sticking-this-in-a-masterpost-because-im-tired-of). I'm new to the Batman fandom, so I'm still finding my feet.

He blinked, but the results on the screen didn’t waver. The glow light up the cave, making the bats squeakily grumble. They settled down quickly, rustling their wings occasionally to remind him they were still here.

He rubbed his eyes and blinked again. The results didn’t change.

He sighed, leaning forward on his elbows and slumping down until his head touched the cold metal. His eyes closed and he tried to breathe.

He imagined he could hear Alfred walking around upstairs, although the cave walls were too thick to transfer sound. He imagined the kitchen, bright light and cream walls, the dark doorway and vault beyond.

No, that wasn’t the kitchen. That was- No

He pushed himself away from the table, punching a few keys with a hand and spinning around. Behind him, the screen shut off, darkness instantly surging back to resume its rightful place.

He stumbled towards the stairs, leaning on them panting. Eventually, he wound up with his back to the wall, head between his knees, shaking.

Alfred would find him like that, hours later, the tea tray dropping as he rushed to Bruce’s side. 


	2. Side Effects

With Monday came the nausea. The smell of Alfred's cooking made his stomach roil and body shiver. There was a hollow emptiness trying to devour him from the inside out. Sweat beaded up underneath his eyebrows and ran down his face. There were ants moving beneath his skin, turning it red and puckered as they dragged themselves out.

He groaned and got up, body aching as he stumbled towards the bathroom, turning on the tap and sticking his arms beneath it. The water stung, making him groan and as he leaned against the tiles, the coolness that came after was a relief.

His skin hurt and he hissed as he soaped himself, the soap turning red as it washed down the drain. He slumped further against the tile, the world spinning harshly as spots ate away at his vision. 

He shut the water off, swaying as he got out of the shower. He scrubbed himself dry, the water growing sticky on his skin. His skin was tight and dry and he didn't bother with clothes, rubbing himself down with oil; one of Alfred's secret recipes. 

* * *

 

Noon found him lying bent over the kitchen table, body shivering slightly. A bowl of liquid stood in front of him, steam slowly curling up his nose.

The manor was quiet in a way it hadn't been since his parent's death. Alfred was out running errands and the rest of the family hadn't visited since the video had been shown on the news.  

His head spun, world dipping in and out slightly as he moved his head so that it was lying on another cold part of the table. 

There was a click and the sound of the door closing before footsteps stopped at the kitchen doorway. He raised his head, blinking blearily at Jason. 

"Come in" he mumbled, making an effort to keep his head up. 

" _Bruce?_ " Jason said, stepping into the kitchen and he winced, the word reverberating through his head. 

"Not so loud" he whispered, dropping his head gently on the table. The coolness lessened his headache slightly and he closed his eyes, listening to Jason move further into the kitchen.

"Did you find anyone?" Dick asked, striding into the kitchen. 

Bruce raised his head again, the pounding growing stronger. He blinked black spots out of his eyes and smiled more at the wall than at Dick. 

"Hey" he said quietly. "What're you doing here?"

"We're tracking a couple of drug dealers," Jason said, opening and closing drawers at random. "Thought we'd drop in..."

His voice trailed off as he picked up an orange pill bottle off of the counter, turning it over to read the label. 

_Atripla_

He dropped the bottle, letting it hit the counter and roll underneath the table. Dick picked it up, frowning at it and him as he set it on the counter. 

"Why are you taking this?" He demanded. 

Bruce squinted at him, the kitchen light sending sharp pulses through his head. 

"You know why" he said, bringing up a hand to rub at his face. 

Jason snorted. "Hypocrite. Giving us that talk and then doing something like this." 

He picked up the bottle and shook it before slamming it down on the counter. 

“Jason” Dick said quietly.

Bruce winced, feeling gravity drag at his limbs. 

"It wasn't _like_ that" he whispered, already knowing they wouldn't listen. They had seen the video, seen him in the vault. Jason scoffed walked towards the other side of the kitchen, towards the rest of the manor. 

"We're gonna use the computer to track down those guys," he said. "If Tim stops by, tell him we're in the cave."

Bruce nodded, even though he felt dizzy again. 

It wasn't until later, until Jason and Dick burst through the kitchen door, bodies crashing to the floor as they looked up to take him in with watery eyes, that he remembered he had left the bank's security footage open on the screen. 


	3. Revelations pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far this is the only chapter to come immediately after the prior one. So far these seem to be organized more by theme than anything else.

"So" Dick started, once they got down into the cave. He kept his voice low. Although the entrance was shut and the cave was soundproofed, he wouldn't put it past Bruce to have listening devices that he could access from upstairs. 

Jason looked at him, arms folded across his chest and jaw tight. 

"He's taking HIV meds" he said before Dick could finish. He looked down, off to the side somewhere. 

"My mother was on them" he said, voice lower than Dick's. 

"Oh" Dick said as they moved further into the cave and stepped up to the computer. 

Jason closed his eyes as Dick jostled the mouse, feeling the weight of another bottle in his hands and the pervasive smell of smoke on the small apartment he shared with his mother. The wail of a siren rose, somewhere in the night. 

* * *

 

_"Come on," Bruce's voice said, light and coaxing. "She's not as pretty as me."_

_On the screen was a room, large and marbled. There were two men in the center, both wearing suits. One of them had a gun pointed at the other._

_"Oh yeah," the man with the gun said. "What can you offer me?"_

_Bruce stepped forward, right up to the gun, hips swaying slightly._

_"Many things" he said, leering at the man._

_The man's eyes flickered to the girl across the room. She looked at him, teary eyed and trembling. He looked back at Bruce, who grinned at him and swiped his tongue across his lips. The man grinned, a sharp smile, baring a bit of teeth._

_He stepped up to Bruce, draping an arm over his shoulders and pressing in._

_"Come on sweetheart," he said as he steered them towards the vault. "Show me what ya got."_

_The vault door shut behind them with a heavy thud._

* * *

Wide-eyed, Dick and Jason traded looks.  

"Is this?"

Dick tapped a few keys, bringing up the video information. 

"It's the security footage from the bank" he confirmed, frowning. "Why would Bruce have this instead of the cops?"

Jason frowned too, remembering fragments of a conversation heard from the roof of the police headquarters. 

"Didn't the footage go missing?"

Dick nodded, still staring at the shut vault on the screen. Jason took the mouse from him, rewinding the video to the start.

"Let's see what you're hiding."

* * *

 

The screen shut itself off, the darkness in the cave deepening. The bats above them chittered as the temperature dropped, wings rustling as they shifted their bodies closer to each other. Below them, Dick and Jason didn't move, fingers clutching at the armrests of the chair, denting the leather. 

Time dripped by, the only sounds being their shaky breathing and the rustle of the bat wings above. Eventually, Jason moved, springing up from his slumped position in the chair and sending it crashing into the far wall. 

" _Bruce_ " he said and _tore_ up the stairs, Dick right behind him. They took the kitchen doorway together, crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs. They looked up at Bruce through blurred vision, picking themselves up from the floor and stumbling towards him. 

" _Bruce_ " Dick said. 

"You," Jason said, hands stretched towards him. "Can I- Can _we"_

He gestured towards the space between them and Bruce just _looked_ at him, uncomprehending. Next to him, Dick made a small, chocked sound. He swallowed, pushing away the burn of anger that rose from within. Now was not the time. But later, _later_ , he'd track that man down and then, _then-_

But that was later. 

Now, he stepped forward, arms coming up to carefully, carefully, wrapped his arms around Bruce. Dick knelt beside them, gripping Bruce's hand with one of his own. The other rested on Jason's leg, a plane of warm steadiness. 

They breathed. 


	4. Revelations pt. 2

"Why didn't you _tell_ us?" 

The disk lay on the table, resting near the edge where Diana had flung it. Clark's hands were clenched tightly at his sides, fingers gripping his cape. Next to him, Diana had her hands folded underneath her chest. The rest of the Justice League was hovering nearby, hanging back to give them enough space. 

Bruce looked out into the blackness. The glass of the Watchtower seemed thinner than usual and he wondered if he should check its durability. 

"You all made your opinions quite clear" he said, opening up a pocket of his utility belt and taking out his phone. He pressed the power button, the screen blinking on. The lockscreen was the bat symbol, displaying the date, time, location and current temperature. 

_5:30 pm_

He'd have to take another dose soon. 

"That was before" Clark said, taking a tiny step forward. Next to him, Diana uncrossed her arms, exhaling slowly. 

"Why does it matter? It's over and the hostages were saved."

Clark stared at him for a long time before he moved forward slowly. His hands came up slow and shaking slightly to cup Bruce's cheeks. Bruce flinched, a minute tremor that only Clark could detect. 

"Bruce" he said gently, bringing their foreheads together. " _Bruce_ "

"It's over" Bruce repeated, voice steady but cracked around the edges and body trembling slightly. "I'm _fine_ "

"Bruce," Clark said again, eyes wet. "It matters. He- _he raped you_. What we said, we  _were_ wrong, _are_ wrong. You're-" 

Clark's voice broke, tears running down his face and dripping onto both of theirs. 

Diana stepped up to them then, eyes teary. 

"Can I hug you?" she asked Bruce, voice solemn. 

Bruce looked at her, at all of them with pale faces and misty eyes. He closed his own, felt Clark's skin on his own, warm but barely there. The tower hummed around them, low and quiet. He could feel his body relax, in a way it hadn't done since the bank. 

"Yes" he whispered eventually and Diana stepped forward.

Her arms wrapped around them, around him, strong, steady, _safe_. The rest of them stepped forward, Shayera's wings spreading slightly and John's ring sparking green. They formed a circle around him, around them and he relaxed further, slumping into Diana's embrace as Clark dropped his hands to grasp his. 

"It'll be okay" he said, eyes glowing with a protectiveness that Bruce never thought would be directed at him.  

Below them, the earth turned slowly, the tower steady in her orbit. He felt steadier too, body slumping further down and eyes drifting shut. 

"I" he started, voice slow and quiet.

"We know" Diana said, gently. "We know"


	5. Reactions Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place well before both parts of Revelations and Side Effects.

In the early hours of the morning, a video was released on YouTube. By noon, it was all over the news. 

The next morning, Alfred plunked the paper, down on the kitchen table, glaring at Bruce.

"This _sir_ ," he said. "Is going to far."

Bruce unfolded the paper. The first thing was a grainy still of himself wrapped around another man. their clothes were partially gone and they were kissing. Around them were locked drawers and a table towards the back. The headline read: _Bruce Wayne Sexes up Criminal as Hostage._

He closed his eyes, taking a long, slow breath.

"And you believe this?"

The stone in his gut burned, sending bile up the back of his throat. Alfred's silence said enough. 

He exhaled the breath slowly, feeling his lungs burn and the dull throb in his lower back. His hips still felt like they were being gripped by hands. 

"I see" he said eventually, all emotion sucked out of his voice. "I suppose I won't go into work today."

"That would be for the best" Alfred agreed, picking up the barely touched plate. He frowned at it before sticking it in the fridge. The sound of its door closing sounded heavier than normal and room grew colder and started to smell like stale paper. 

Abruptly, he pushed himself up from the table and stalked off, gait still a little wobbly. Alfred watched him go with an angry look.

* * *

 

"I cannot believe you father" Damian said, leaning against the open door of the office. Bruce looked up and dug his fingers into his left thigh. Disappointment and shame covered his son's face as he glared at Bruce.  

"All _this_ for your cover.  I am ashamed to be your son."

Bruce dug his fingers in deeper, breaking skin. His thighs grew sticky, fluid running down the insides, the loud echo of panting in the room. 

"Damian" he said, voice steady. The coldness of the floor soaked into his bare skin and the smell of stale paper clogged his nose.

"Save it" Damian snapped and turned, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Bruce blinked, the cold floor resolving itself into the back of a leather chair, warm to the touch. The smell of stale paper becoming the smell of musty books and dusty sunlight. The faint sound of traffic outside. 

He looked down, lifting his hand to survey the damage. There were small, jagged holes in the fabric of his suit and nail marks on his skin. There was no blood. 

* * *

 

At night, Jason called. Bruce swallowed staring at the name on the phone, one hand clutching the edge of the desk. Slowly, he picked it up. 

"Jason"

"Always knew you loved criminals" Jason spat, the static of the phone line making his voice sound more sinister. 

Bruce's hands shook, phone nearly slipping out of his grasp. 

"It wasn't like that" he said tiredly.  

" _Liar._ I'm just surprised it wasn't _him._ You always _want_ to save him _._ What makes _this one_ so special huh? _"_

"Jason _please_ "

"I don't want to hear it. I'm _done_ "

The dial tone sounded, loud and harsh in Bruce's ear. He set the phone down, body falling forward. The wood of the desk turned cold underneath his elbows, seeping in through the thick cloth. His eyes slid to the clock. 

_9 pm_

It was time for the Bat. 

* * *

 

In an apartment, on the other side of the city, a TV clicked off. Darkness covered the room, a comfortable blanket. Narrowed eyes stared at the remote, then at the phone. The remote clattered on the table, the phone tucked into a pocket. 

"I'm going out find out what really happened" he promised the night, making his way down the stairs and towards the bike parked in a corner of the garage. 

He swung his legs over the bike, clicked on the engine and kicked up the stand. 

The scanner on the bike buzzed to life, a break-in at one of the factories. He sighed, looking in the direction of the Manor. His investigation would have to wait. 

 


	6. Reactions Pt. 2

"I can't believe you would do that." Clark said as they looked over Gotham together. The night was quiet, more and more criminals staying in, scared of the Bat's violence. 

"It was necessary" Batman said, voice a low rumble. 

Clark, and it was Clark, in slightly ripped jeans and a plaid shirt, lifted off of the rooftop.

"How could it have been necessary?"

Bruce examined him, mind spinning out possibilities. He could tell and Clark wouldn't, wouldn't- No, no need to bring anyone else into it. It was already over. 

"It was" he said simply and swung off the rooftop. 

Clark watched him go, listening to the sound of the city and its whispers beneath. 

_"I hope the Bat doesn't come out tonight"_

_"I'm staying in man."_

_"He nearly killed Greg last night. Beat him within an inch of his life! It took five of us to pull him off. Five!"_

He frowned, eyes flickering in the direction of Metropolis and back. The sound of a fist breaking bone and the scream of _"Batman stop",_ made up his mind. He stripped off his clothes, unfolded the cape from his shirt pocket and zoomed off into the Narrows.

He found the Batman lying on the ground, foreign blood mixing into his cuts. There was an unconscious man on top of him and Batman was still, eyes staring up into the night. He didn't blink when Superman pulled the man off of him.

Superman handed the unconscious man to his friends and stared at them sternly. 

"Get out of here" he said, before turning back to Batman. The men turned and ran, rapid footsteps pounding away into the dark. 

Batman hadn't moved, eyes involuntarily blinking at the sky. Superman stepped closer, leaning over him. 

"Batman?"

Batman moved then, body twisting and jumping until he landed in a crouch on a nearby fire escape. He stared at Superman, stared _through_ him as if he was the one with the x-ray vision. 

"Batman" Superman called again, listening to the frantic heartbeat that lay beneath the suit. 

Batman blinked, eyes focusing on him. 

"Superman" he acknowledged. "I had it under control."

Superman looked pointedly at the blood coating the ground. Batman looked away. 

"We'll call you" Superman eventually said, before flying off. 

* * *

 

Green Lantern showed up next, stepping off of the green disk and onto the rooftop. The night was quiet as it always seemed to be lately and Batman stood, frowning down at the streets.

"There's been rumors that you're getting more violent" the Lantern said, stepping closer, into Batman's space. 

Batman moved back, head turning to scan the rooftops. 

"They're just rumors" he said. The scanner on his belt remained silent, the skies clear and free of symbols. 

The Lantern folded his arms across his chest. Wind drifted around them, slowly winding its way between the buildings. 

"Gotham's crime rate has dropped" he said. "So has its nightlife."

"Your point?" Batman moved to a different corner of the rooftop, scanning another part of the city. 

"Something's got your Rouges running scared" he said, extending a finger to poke at Batman's chest. Batman stepped out of the way, back up against the wall of the rooftop entrance. 

"They're all in Arkham, you know that"

"Yeah," Lantern said, something dark in his gaze. "They went _back_ "

"Why are you interested?" Batman snapped, tensing. "Gotham is _my_ city."

Lantern stepped up to him, until their chests were slightly touching. Batman's breath hitched, a minute stutter that Lantern didn't appear to have noticed. 

"You're part of the League," Lantern said. "We can't have League members going around killing people."

"I haven't-" Batman started to growl. 

"Not yet," Lantern said, voice cold. "Continue the way you are and you _will_. And once you do, you're out."

They glared at each other for a long time, the wind avoiding their space. Eventually, Lantern stepped back, shaking his head, materializing a green disk at  his feet. 

"I've got my eyes on you Batman" he said as he rose into the sky. "Watch yourself"

Batman stood there, eyes on the sky until Lantern was a small dot of light in the dark. Then, he turned and made his way down the stairs to the ground. He wasn't needed tonight.

Superman and Lantern were the only ones who showed up to confront him. The rest of the League, avoided him for the most part, breaking out into whispers as soon as his back was turned. He stopped going up to the Watchtower and they stopped calling him. And Dick......Dick, he hadn't heard from at all since their last meeting in Bludhaven.


	7. Guilt

"We should have know better," Dick hissed punching the rock. "We should have _known_."

Blood ran over his skin, falling to the ground. Silently, Jason retrieved a first aid kit from underneath the table, opening it up with a quiet click.

" _I_ should have known" Dick snarled, punching the wall again.

"You weren't the only one" Jason snapped, taking out a roll of bandages. He tossed them to Dick, hitting him in the face.  Dick caught them before they hit the ground, the bats above squeaking angrily at the ruckus. They glared at each other, Dick's hand still bleeding. Finally, footsteps on the stairs made them snap their attention to the entrance of the cave. 

"He's asleep" Tim said, taking the stairs two at a time. He overshot one of them, flipping through the air to land on his feet. 

"Show-off" Jason scoffed. 

"You knew about this" Dick said, coming closer. The roll of bandages was still clutched in his fist. 

"Yes," Tim said. "Unlike _you, I_ didn't believe the media."

"What we we supposed to believe?" Jason snapped, getting up from his seat in front of the computer. "He _does_ things like this!" 

His gesture encompassed the cave and all the things beyond. 

"He _always_ has a reason" Tim said. " _You_ should know that." His eyes lingered on Dick.

With a yell, Dick lunged at him. Tim stepped to the side, avoiding Dick's kick as he came around again. He blocked Dick's next strike, tossing out a punch of his own. 

Jason took a step towards them, watching them go at it. His eyes flicked towards the stairs and the shut door before looking back at the fight. 

The cut on Dick's right hand had split open further and Tim wiped away blood from the side of his mouth before stepping back into a ready position. There were teeth marks on Dick's forearm. 

"That all you got?" He said, with a grin on his face. 

Dick lunged at him again, sweeping his leg out in a wide arc. Tim jumped, tucking his body into a roll, moving towards Dick.

Jason sighed, leaving them to it as he walked deeper into the cave. The code to the vault automatically changed every three months, sending it directly to Oracle. He got out his phone. The text with the code was sent two months back; it would still work. 

He stopped in front of the door, glancing back in the direction of the main part of the cave. The fighting had gotten louder and the bats were screaming angrily. Alfred would be by to check on them soon. He keyed in the code and the door rumbled open, making the walls around him shake slightly. 

He frowned, casting a glance towards the ceiling. A bat flew out of the shadows, chastising him. He laughed slightly before stepping into the vault.

* * *

 

When Jason finally stepped out of the vault, Tim and Dick were still fighting. There was a tea tray set on the desk, well away from the computer. Alfred had been down then. Jason huffed, it looked like it was going to take more force to pull those two apart.  

He stepped around them, setting the batarangs down on a free surface. He wished for a moment that he had gotten the grenades, but that was phase two. Phase one was to make him suffer, make him know that he was being _hunted_. 

"Todd" Damian said from his position next to him. "What is going on?"

Jason turned, loosening his grip on a batagrang and setting it down on top of the pile. 

"Tim and Dick are fighting." The _obviously_ dripped from his tone.

Damian glared at him. 

"I can see that" he snapped. " _Why?_ "

Jason shrugged. "The same reason they always do."

In the background, something crashed as Tim sent Dick spinning into the wall. It was probably the tea tray. He turned back to the computer screen and wriggled the mouse. 

_"Everyone put your hands in the air!"_

Immediately, Tim and Dick froze, eyes turning to the screen in horror as Jason hit the space-bar. Damian grabbed the mouse before any of them could move, holding it high in the air. His eyes narrowed, taking in their expressions, and clicked play. 

"No!" Dick lunged for the computer. Damian blocked him, arms outstretched. 

The video played, Damian spun around to take it all in. 

* * *

 

The world stood still for a long time; even the bats had gone silent. Eventually, Damian moved letting out a terrifying yell and sprinting for the Batmobile. Jason tackled him, grabbing his arms in a tight grip. 

"Let me go, Todd!"

"No" Jason said, still pinning him down. "This is not the time for vengeance."

Damian stilled, staring at him in shock. He knew without looking that Dick and Tim were staring at him too. 

"I thought you of all people would understand, Todd."

Jason closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Far above them, bat wings rustled softly. One of these days, he should really apologize to Bruce. 

"I do understand" he said, calmly. "But right now, there's someone else who comes first."

He looked pointedly in the direction of the stairs, Damian following his gaze with apprehension. 

"What if he hates me" Damian whispered eventually. Jason had to lean closer to hear him. 

"I said _things_. I was harsh."

Jason shifted, getting off him and reaching down to grasp his hand and pull him up. 

"He'll forgive you" he said with absolute certainty. "Trust me"

Damian looked at him, long enough for Jason to frown under the scrutiny, before shaking his head and huffing. Jason scowled at him and pushed him towards the stairs. 

"Go on," he said. "He's probably awake by now. 

Damian went, giving Jason a confused, but intense look. Jason sighed and turned back to the computer, pulling up the police department's internal website. It was time to go hunting. 


	8. Symptoms

His eyes burned, heat building up underneath the surface of his skin. He closed them, heart nearly pounding its way out of his chest.  Gravity dragged at him until he slipped off the chair and melted onto the floor. The wooden surface of his desk irritated his skin, but he pressed himself closer to its coolness. There were hands on his back, turning him over.

The room smelled like stale paper again and the carpet beneath him felt like tile, cold and dusty. Sweat fell from the sky, hissing when it touched his skin. Hot breath on his face. Hands sliding down his body. Gasps echoed in the room, escaping into the air from gritted teeth. Fire seared itself into his spine and his eyes went wide. 

Somewhere, outside the room, the door slammed. 

He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Damian's red scrawl of _Drake was here_ still remained in a corner. Cobwebs clung to the light. There was a knock on the study door and he sprang to his feet. 

"Come in"

It was Alfred who pushed open the door and Bruce scrambled to straighten himself into some semblance of order. He had just finished stacking the papers back on top of the desk when Alfred stepped fully into the room. 

"Sir" he said flatly and Bruce tightened his fingers around the papers he was still holding. 

"Master Damian has gone to stay with Master Dick" Alfred said, then turned and left, displeasure clear in every step. 

Bruce closed his eyes, the heat under his skin made them ache and he blinked a couple times before bursting into coughs. Tears dripped from his eyes as he clung to the desk, trying to breathe around the constriction of his throat. The world dipped in and out of his vision again and he slumped, falling back into the chair, leather creaking. 

The room was warm; his blood boiled.

The ceiling spun gently above him, Damian's scrawl blurring into unintelligible letters. He wondered if Damian had written it in Arabic. The sharp spike of pain that nearly cracked him open made him finally decide to call Leslie. 

* * *

 

One of the lights above the kitchen table flickered four times. Alfred put down the plate and shut off the sink, tapping a pattern on the side of the counter between the sink and dishwasher. A feed of the Batcave came up, mostly empty except for the Robin at the computer. Alfred smiled; he'd go bring Master Tim some tea and a slice of cake.

When he got down to the cave, Tim was typing rapidly, pulling up and discarding files. There was a decryption program running on the screen furthest from him. Alfred watched him work for a few moments, before clearing his throat and setting down the tray. 

"Tea, Master Tim?"

Tim turned, smiling. He picked up the a cup from the tray and started to spoon in sugar. 

"Not too much now Master Tim," Alfred sighed. "You'll ruin the tea."

The decryption program chimed as it finished and a screen full of grainy footage appeared. Tim frowned and tapped a few keys. The footage got clear enough to see. 

* * *

 

_"Hey pretty girl" The man with the gun leered, using the gun to trace the girl's chin. She stilled, trembling as he bent down to lick at her skin._

_"Let's have some fun" he said, pulling back._

_From his spot next to the girl, another man stepped forward, maneuvering the man with the gun to the center of the room._

_"Come on," Bruce's voice said, light and coaxing. "She's not as pretty as me."_

* * *

Tim stilled, mug sloping down and tea pouring onto the floor. He stared at the screen, eyes wide. Next to him, stood Alfred with his mouth open. They stood together, in the absolute silence of the cave, for a long time. Eventually, Alfred moved, bending down to wipe up the spilled tea. 

"Alfred" Tim reached out a hand, but the look on Alfred's face stopped him. 

"Master Bruce took an appointment with Doctor Thompkins" he said, picking up the tray. "He should be back for dinner." 

" _Alfred_ " Tim took a step towards him and removed the tea tray from Alfred's shaking hands. Alfred leaned against the table, head in hands. 

"I said _awful_ things Master Tim. Oh Master _Bruce_ "

For a few moments, the only sound in the cave was their breathing. Tim set the tray down with a quiet clink and moved to hug Alfred. 

Alfred shuddered in the embrace; Tim tightened his grip. 

"Alfred" he said firmly, passing him one of his handkerchiefs. "It'll be okay. We'll fix this."

"Oh Master Tim," Alfred said quietly, "this is not something that can be fixed."


	9. Alfred

Alfred frowned as he made tea. It had been about two weeks since Master Bruce's appointment with Doctor Thompkins and his test results were supposed to come in today. 

"Just the usual tests Alfred" Master Bruce had said when Alfred had expressed his interest. "Nothing to worry about"

Alfred couldn't help the twisting of his stomach when he heard that. Master Bruce had been looking thinner and thinner over these past few months. The Bat wasn't needed much; _something_ had made the criminals refuse to step foot out of Arkham and it seemed the crime syndicates were leaving the city alone. 

The tea was done. He turned the stove off, poured it into two cups and made his way to the Batcave. At the bottom of the stairs, Master Bruce was sitting there, knees pressed to his chest, body shaking. Immediately, Alfred dropped the tray and rushed over. The loud sound made Master Bruce flinch and tea ran down the steps, soaking into the concrete. 

"Master Bruce! What happened?"

Bruce raised a shaking arm and pointed in the direction of the computer. Alfred moved further into the cave, towards the bright blue glow. The results were still displayed on the screen and Alfred stared it for a long time, trying to understand what he was looking at. 

"Master Bruce," Alfred said eventually, turning to Bruce who hadn't moved. "Is this-?"

"Yes" Bruce confirmed. 

" _Oh_ Master Bruce" Alfred said, making his way back over and kneeling down next to him. Bruce swallowed, turning his face up to look at him, face glistening in the light. 

Wiry arms wrapped around his shaking frame and Alfred drew Bruce's head to his shoulder. 

"I'm sorry" Alfred said. "Master Bruce, I'm so-"

"I forgive you," Bruce said, taking a wobbly breath. They stayed that way for a while, Bruce feeling Alfred's steady pulse against his cheek. 

Eventually, he shifted, pulling back to let the cool air weave between them. 

"Alfred" he said in a small voice. "Do you think this is my fault?"

Alfred's heart dropped, somewhere to the center of the Earth. He closed the space between them and raised his hands to gently cup Bruce's face. Bruce blinked at him, eyelashes brushing the tips of Alfred's fingers. 

" _Bruce_ " Alfred said gently, brushing away tears. " _None_ of this is your fault. You didn't deserve _any_ of this."

Alfred's voice cracked and tears ran down his face. 

" _Alfred_ " Bruce croaked, bringing his hands up to wrap around Alfred's wrists. "Don't cry, _please_ "

He crawled into Alfred's lap awkwardly and leaned his head against Alfred's shoulder. Their tears slowly dried and the bats squeaked softly above them. Bruce's eyes drooped and as much as Alfred would love to have let them remain here like this, his body ached. Slowly, Alfred slid his hand out from underneath Bruce's body and ran his fingers through Bruce's hair. 

"We have to get up" he said, softly. "I have to prepare dinner."

Bruce groaned, but eased himself off, blinking slowly in the dim light. 

"Alfred" he said, "thank you"

 


	10. Damian

Damian eased the door to the bedroom open, quietly tiptoeing in. He stood there, just a little beyond the threshold and looked back at the softly lit hallway. Dick smiled encouragement at him and Jason made a shooing motion towards the center of the bedroom. Tim stood next to them, arms crossed. It'll be okay, he mouthed after a moment and Damian nodded, closing the door behind him. 

He stepped further into the room, using the faint streams of moonlight to make his way to the bedside table, where he quietly clicked on the lamp. 

His father's body was shaking, curled tightly in on itself, hands fisted into the pillow. There were dark lines under his father's eyes and traces of fear had leaked into his frown. His eyebrows drew themselves together and a slight whimper reached Damian's ears.

Damian reached out a shaking hand to touch his father's bare shoulder, his shirt slipping down. His father flinched and Damian jerked his hand back. 

" _Father_ " he whispered in the lowest tone he could manage, swallowing the stone in his throat. He looked back at the bedroom door which was cracked open, Dick's encouraging face peeking out. He swallowed again, listening to his father mumble something; it sounded like _stop_.

Damian moved, backing away from the bed slowly. He stepped closer to the door and it creaked open further, Jason glaring it at him from the other side. Damian looked back at the bed, at the way his father's body shook, curled beneath the blanket. 

He moved away from the door, silently stepping to the other side of the bed. He stood there, staring it his father, something heavy pressing down on him and making it hard to breath. Eventually, he lifted the blankets with shaking hands and slipped into the bed, careful not to jar the mattress any more than necessary. Slowly, he crawled closer and wrapped his arms around his father's shaking body. 

Immediately, his father's body tensed, snapping out of sleep. 

"Shhh" Damian said. "It's only me, father."

His father rolled over to look at him and Damian saw his wet eyes. 

"Damian," his father said, voice slow and weary. "What're you doing here?"

Damian slid closer, wrapping his father back up in the hug. He rested his head against his father's chest, listened to the shaky heartbeat. 

"Father" he choked out, each individual letter shaking. "I _know_ "

Damian tightened his grip as his father tensed again. 

"I'm sorry father" he said, voice cracking and tears gathering in his eyes. "I jumped to conclusions. It was wrong of me."

He turned his head so that one of his ears was resting directly above his father's heart. His heart was slowing down, falling back into the steady rhythm it should be. He drew his father closer, wrapping the blankets more tightly around them. 

They stayed like that until his father fell asleep, body relaxing a little. There was still enough tension to make Damian frown, though he didn't move. The bedroom door opened again, Dick stumbling in; the door closing with a quiet click. The light was still on and Dick made his way towards them easily. 

Their father stirred and Damian leveled a glare, that if Damian had Superman's heat vision, would have incinerated Dick on the spot. 

"Shhh," Damian murmured, reaching up a hand to stroke his father's hair. "It's okay. It's just Grayson."

Awkwardly, Damian jerked his chin towards the bed the invitation clear. Dick stepped forward, lifting the blankets on the other side of the bed before sliding in and wrapping his arms around their father. Damian continued stroking his hair as Dick smoothed the blankets over all of them. 

Their father curled into them, body relaxing further. As they felt him slip deeper into sleep, Dick and Damian traded relived smiles. 


	11. Video

There was a box on Lois' desk. Light brown and wrapped in duct tape, her name clearly written in black marker on the top. She cut the tape open, peeling it off in long, sticky spirals that she hung off the edge of her desk. 

She opened it, Clark leaning over the top of his cubicle to look. There was a disk inside, covered in a clear, plastic case. Lying next to it was an envelope, her name written in the same handwriting as on the front of the box. 

Lois gestured Clark over, reaching inside her desk to withdraw the pair of black earbuds she always kept with her. She ripped open one of those steri-packs Clark always insisted she keep in her desk and cleaned one of the buds off before handing it to Clark. He took it with a raised eyebrow before pulling up his chair and sitting down. 

* * *

 

_The screen turned on, its glow blending into the lights in the room. There was a woman sitting on the stool. Her face was pale, the skin underneath her eyes a dark purple. She licked her lips and swallowed, leaning forward towards the camera._

_"My name is_ _Guinevere Barrett and I was one of the hostages in Gotham National Bank."_

_She swallowed again, inhaling deeply. She glanced towards the window, at the sliver of sunlight escaping the wall of beige curtains._

_"I'm recording this because," she paused again, pulling out a tissue from off frame and blowing her nose._

_"Because," she said again, voice cracking and blinking tears out of her eyes, "I need to tell you what really happened that day."_

_She picked up the camera; there was a bed with red sheets in one shake, the screen of a laptop in another. The laptop was open to YouTube to the video of the bank robbery in August. The video was paused at the image of Bruce Wayne leaning into a man, faces pressed close together. One of his hands was around the man's waist, hand resting just below his hip._

_"This," Guinevere said, anger lacing her voice. "is not the full story. The media-"_

_The camera shook as she spat out the word before steadying, its lens directed back at Guinevere's face._

_"There were parts cut out," she said, voice teary, but calmer, "shifted around to make this mockery."_

_She closed her eyes, fingers whitening against the arms of her chair, taking another deep breath._

_"Bruce Wayne" she spoke the words in a rush, blending them together to make a quick escape from her fast closing throat. "He slept with him to save me."_

* * *

 

Lois stared at her black screen, then at the blue ink all over Clark's hands. The pieces of the broken pen were on the floor and several of their colleagues had turned their heads to look. 

"Get back to work" Lois snapped, not having to raise her voice in the quiet of the room. 

She turned back to Clark, who was wiping the ink off his hands. The expression on his face was torn. 

"I'm being called by the League" he said, voice quiet. 

Lois turned back to the screen, one finger tapping at her lips. 

" _Lo,_ " Clark said and she nodded to herself before ejecting the disk and handing it to him. 

"Go" she said, already pulling up their previous articles about the Bank incident. "Take that with you, you'll need proof." 

She felt lips on her cheek and wind on the back of her neck. Perry came out of his office, frowning. 

"Where's Kent?"

She didn't look up from her screen, word processor already open. 

"He's gathering intel for me."

She started typing, fingers clacking away loudly. Perry shook his head and stepped back into his office. 

"Tell him I need the sports story by Monday. No excuses" he yelled and his door slammed shut. 

She took a breath, flexed her fingers and continued to type. 


	12. Warmth

Bruce woke to a hand in his hair and soft breathing against the back of his neck. There was a hand in his and another curled around his wrist, fingers resting against the pulse point. He opened his eyes, blinking at the figures in his bed. Damian's hand was in his hair, its warm weight an anchor to the panic that threatened to rise. 

Jason was on Damian's other side, hand stretched out to loosely wrap around his wrist. He looked more relaxed than Bruce had ever seen him and something in him loosened. 

He twisted his head. Dick was breathing against him, steady breaths that tickled and sent shivers down the back of his spine. Tim was on Dick's other side, hand slipped into his. 

He closed his eyes sinking back into the warmth. Sleep was a gentle wave that he willingly slipped under and for the longest time there was only the soft, near-inaudible sound of breathing in the room. 

* * *

 

The next time he woke, there was still a hand in his hair, too big and callused to be Damian's. There was a line of hardness resting on his shoulders and the occasional whisper of turning pages. He was lying on something, moving gently up and down with every breath; the steady thumping of a muffled heartbeat beneath his ear. 

"Go back to sleep" Jason said, chest vibrating underneath him. The hand in his hair paused in its stroking, removing itself to resettle the blankets around him before coming back. 

His eyes drooped, but he lifted his head to look at Jason, who tugged him closer and rubbed at the wrinkle on his forehead. 

"Go back to sleep" he said again. "Everything's fine. Damian's at school, Tim's at work and so's Dick. "

He took a breath and turned a page. Bruce put his head back down, focusing on the warmth of Jason's body. The hand in his hair went back to its stroking and he slipped away.

* * *

 

The next time he woke up, there was someone else in the room with them. He kept his eyes closed, still lying on Jason's chest as he listened to the conversation going on above him. 

"Have you stayed in bed all day?" Dick said, reaching down to take one of Bruce's hands in his. He rubbed his thumb across Bruce's knuckles and Bruce felt himself relax a little, slipping further into his drowsy state. Jason's heartbeat was steady and strong beneath his ear and the warmth of their bodies nearly put him back to sleep when Jason spoke. 

"Yeah" He whispered back. "I'm almost done reading this book too."

The hard line on his back lifted and Dick made an appreciative sound. 

"That's a good one."

The hand in his hair left again to turn another page. The mattress dipped, their bodies sinking as Dick sat down. He swung his legs up, settling in next to Jason. 

"Here, give him to me. You must want to get up."

Bruce felt himself being shifted and he curled into Dick's side once the world settled again, breathing into the hollow of Dick's collarbone. Dick shuddered a little, but gripped Bruce tighter. Bruce's legs tangled with Dick's and he curled further in as Jason drew the blankets around them. 

"Thanks Dickiebird" Jason's voice sounded distant. "I need to go check on a few things. I'll be back in a while."

The door closed, cutting off the faint sounds of the outside world. Bruce exhaled, long, slow, even and went back to sleep. 

* * *

 

The time after that, the curtains were open and the afternoon light was creeping from the room. There was the quiet _skrritch_ of pen against paper and the soft sound of clacking keys. He sat up, head spinning a little. 

Tim looked up from the laptop, setting it aside and handing him a glass of water. 

"Easy" he said. 

"What time is it?" Bruce took the water and gulped it down, setting the glass on the nightstand. 

"Almost four," Damian said from his position against the side of the bed. There was sketch pad in front of him, but he quickly flipped the page over as soon as Bruce leaned to look. 

"It's not done yet" he snapped. 

Tim laughed. "We've been trying to get him to show us for ages. Dick thinks it's a redesign of the Robin suit."

Bruce blinked slowly, resting his head on Tim's shoulder as he leaned over to look at the screen. Tim always ran a little cooler than the rest of the family, but he was still pleasantly warm.  

There was an entire spreadsheet of Wayne Enterprise figures marked up in various colors and Tim clicked a few cells, highlighting them in yellow. 

"Just reorganizing the budget," Tim said, then paused. Opposite them, Damian looked up from the pad.

"Clark called," Tim said carefully. "The League wants to see you."

Bruce nodded. "Did they say why?"

Tim shook his head. 

"It sounded urgent, though," he said, highlighting another cell. "Clark sounded pretty upset."

Bruce pulled away from him and got out of bed, stretching. There was a twinge in his lower back and for a moment the air seemed colder and the room darker. Then, Damian moved to flop on the bed, pad held up close to his face and the feeling slipped away. 


	13. Bank

It had been five months since Bruce Wayne had last stepped into a bank. 

The doors shut behind him with a loud clang. From far away, he heard a thump as a vault door closed. The room fell silent, every head turning in his direction. His footsteps echoed as he strode to the end of the line. Slowly, very slowly, conversation resumed. People were talking in loud whispers, still staring at him. 

The immediate space around him was clear, people stepping back as he passed. His skin prickled, the sound of sobbing somewhere off to his left. The air was stagnant and cold and there were footsteps circling around him. The line moved. 

Muffled whimpers sounded in his ears and there was the ghostly sensation of skin on his, hands sliding down his body to caress his hips. 

"Next" one of the tellers called and the line moved. 

The room grew colder with each passing second and the smell of stale paper invaded his nose. There were whispers in his ears, words he couldn't make out. His own voice was moaning. 

The line moved; he moved with it, the world slipping away each step. Time cracked and when he blinked, he was in another room, sitting on cold tile, phone ringing at his feet. 

"Hello?"

Clark's voice was on the other end. He'd thought he'd meant to dial Alfred. 

"Bruce?" Clark's voice sounded sharper, more focused. 

"Clark" he gasped, forcing the words out. His throat hurt, the taste of foreign fluid in his mouth. He swallowed, bile trying to come back up. 

"Bruce" Clark said again "Where-Never mind, I have you."

There was the sound of a faint boom across the line, the bathroom door was opening and Clark was sliding inside. 

He made his way over to Bruce, taking slow, careful steps before crouching down and turning off the phone. 

"Hey" he said.

"Hi" Bruce croaked, feeling black fog reaching up to swallow him down. He dug his nails into his palms, pressure slicing through the stale paper smell that stabbed at the back of his throat and dug into his lungs. 

"What are you doing here?" Clark shifted to sit beside him, close enough for Bruce to feel his warmth. Bruce shifted a little further away. 

He swallowed, closing his eyes and inhaling. 

"I had some bank work" he said, voice lapsing into the Bat's growl. Clark could hear the cracks beneath and he laid his hand down in the space between them. 

Bruce looked at it, raised his head to look at him, and after a long moment, let their fingertips touch. 

"Alfred had other work to do and everyone else is..." he sighed and thumped his head back against the wall.  

"They've been great" he said finally, "but, I needed to this _and_  "

He sucked in a breath, turning to look at Clark. 

"Take me home, _please_ "

There was nothing more to be spoken and Clark stood, offering Bruce a hand up. Bruce took it, hand loosely slipping into Clark's and Clark had to tighten his grip with an apologetic frown.

"I don't want to drop you." 

Bruce nodded, fingers shaking. Clark helped him out the window and together they lifted off into the sky. 

 


	14. Blood

The Watchtower hummed, the sound melding into his bones. It was quiet, most of the League away on off-world missions. The suit was warm, a comfortable weight on his skin, armor in more ways than one. The bottle sat on the table in front of him, bright orange a stark contrast to the grey surface. His eyes kept sliding away from it and towards the door. 

The tower's hum slipped into his dreams, fragments of unwanted memories making sweat breakout and his body tense. He snapped awake when J'onn walked in the door and sat down across from him. He picked up the bottle, tucking it away. 

Voices came from the hallway, John and Shayera murmuring to each other in low tones. They walked in, smiles fading a little when they saw him and he shifted in his seat, gloved fists clenching underneath the table. 

"Everything okay?" John asked, worry clear in his voice. Next to him, Shayera's wings flapped, stretched a little in his direction before they forcibly stilled. He swallowed, looking down at the faint dents in the table, leftover from the last attempted invasion when Clark had used it to barricade the door. 

"I am no longer able to donate blood" he said, words coming out in a tone that was almost normal. 

Across from him, J'onn frowned and Bruce imagined dark fog covering his thoughts. J'onn nodded at him and tapped away at the data pad in front of him. 

"I have updated your status in the database Batman" he said, projecting calm. 

Bruce nodded. 

"Thank you," he said. "I just wanted to make you aware. That is the only thing that will be affect by my...illness"

Shayera moved, John jabbed her in the side and gave her a shake of the head when she turned to look at him. 

"Are there any precautions we should take," he asked Bruce, leaning forward on his elbows. 

Bruce shook his head, fingers loosening their grip on his thighs. 

"No more than normal," he said. "The virus doesn't survive long outside of the body."

His head ached, a spot of pain blooming right above his left eye. He rose from the table, shaking a little. John made an aborted movement, settling in his chair with a frown. 

"I'll be in touch" Bruce said and walked at an even pace out the door.

* * *

 

Dinner at the Manor found them all gathered at the table. Bruce moved the food around on his plate, taking the occasional bite. The nausea from the initial doses had faded, but his stomach still felt a little unsettled.

Alfred sighed. "At least _try_ to eat something Master Bruce"

Slowly, Bruce took another bite and chewed. Across from him, Damian rolled the fork through his thumb and forefinger; his plate was as full as Bruce's. Next to him, Tim sipped at his glass on his other side Dick worked on smashing his food into tiny pieces. Jason was the only one actually eating. 

Alfred sighed again. "I don't know why I bothered." 

His plate was also untouched. 

Eventually, Alfred put the food away, the boys getting up to help with the dishes. Bruce got up too, grabbing a glass from one of the cabinets and filling it up with water. He took the orange bottle out of his pocket, opened it and shook out a pill. 

"What are those for?" Damian said, watching him suspiciously. The rest of the family looked at him and Bruce sighed, closing his eyes. 

"It's an antiviral," he said, swallowing the pill down with the water. "It helps prevent the virus in my blood from getting any worse."

Damian's frown deepened and he held out his hand. Bruce handed him the bottle and he turned it over to look at the label,  Tim leaning over his shoulder. He handed the bottle back to Bruce.

"I don't understand."

Bruce stuck the bottle in a pocket, slipped his hand in afterwards and rolled the bottle in his palm. 

"I went to Leslie a few weeks ago, just a checkup and we did all the usual tests. The results came back this week. I have HIV."

Tim gasped, nearly dropping the plate that he was drying. Quickly, he put it down. 

"Is it because of...?"

Bruce looked at the floor. They'd have to redo the tile soon; it was starting to crack in places and there were faded brown stains that were splattered across the surface. 

"I don't know," he said eventually, looking up and smiling at them wryly. "I do get into fights."

Tim stepped up to him, careful not to invade his space. 

"I had suspected," he said, quietly. "I wish I was wrong."

"So am I"

"Father" Damian asked, seriously, putting down the bowl he was washing. There was soap on his hands and he dried them quickly with a towel. 

"Yes?"

Damian stepped closer, stopping before their toes touched and wrapped his arms around him, grip strong but loose. He stretched himself up, standing on his toes to lean his forehead against Bruce's shoulder. 

"It will be alright father. We're here."

* * *

 

Later that evening, Lois walked up to Manor, her footsteps starling a few of the birds perched in nearby trees. They lifted up and away  breaking through the fog and allowing a small slice of sunlight to shine through. She shivered, the Manor a looming, watchful presence in front of her.  

As she got closer, she could see a car in the driveway, a powder blue Chevy with a license plate that read SUPER; Bruce's gift for one of Clark's birthdays. She laughed a little, then frowned. Clark didn't have anything scheduled in the area. 

As she crossed the driveway, the door swung open, Alfred smiling at her from inside. 

"Miss Lane, do come in!"

"Thanks Alfred" Lois said, smiling back. "Is this a good time?"

The house was quiet as they walked through the halls. It had never been this quiet when she visited. Unease made its way through her, settling just above her diaphragm. 

Alfred pushed a door open and they stopped in the doorway, Lois taking out her phone to snap a picture. 

Clark was sitting on the sofa, nervous tension in his eyes even though his body was relaxed. Bruce was leaning against him, fast asleep with Damian's feet resting against his side. 

"Tea, Miss Lane" Alfred asked quietly. 

"Yes," Lois whispered. "That would be wonderful. "


	15. Bank, Again

Gotham National Bank stood tall in front of them, pale white against the grey sky. Behind them, traffic moved, its sound muted. Next to him, Clark shifted, tightening the scarf around his neck. 

"It keeps slipping" he said in response to Bruce's look. Bruce flicked his eyes upward before looking at the bank again. He shivered and glared at Clark's concerned look, breath puffing out. 

"It's cold" he said, and then "no" before Clark could put his foot down, closer to him. 

"Are you sure?" Clark said, tone serious. 

"Yes" Bruce said, still staring at the bank. He shuffled a little closer to Clark and when he looked at him, Clark quickly hid his smile. 

"Let's go" Bruce said, striding towards the doors. Clark could hear his footsteps falter occasionally and his heartbeat pick up as they got closer to the doors.  Just like before, the bank went silent when they walked in. Their footsteps echoed, mini explosions in the space. The world went a little foggy around the edges, sound moving slowly through his ears. Clark stepped closer until Bruce could feel the heat of him through the fabric of his clothes. Their bodies weren't touching. 

"Tone it down" he muttered to Clark. "Your body temperature's rising."

"They're looking at us" Clark whispered back. 

"No," Bruce corrected. "They're looking at _me._ "

They got in line, people moving away to give them a wide berth. Bruce fixed his eyes on the front where the tellers sat. Clark looked around, eyes lingering on the steel vault door in the back. 

"Clark" Bruce said, the warning clear in his voice and Clark loosened his fists and shut his eyes. The line moved. Behind them, in the opposite direction of the vault, the commercial ended and the news came back on. 

_"This morning a video appeared on the Daily Planet's website-"_

"I'm going to call Lois" Clark said, pulling away. Bruce grabbed his arm, knuckles bloodless. 

"She said this would happen," he said, not letting go. "The article's being posted today."

Around the room people were staring at the video and then glancing back at him. They were now the first people in line and when they stepped up to the teller, Bruce's hand still on Clark's arm, everyone looked away at the floor. 

Bruce reached into his pocket with his other hand and extracted a plain envelope. He slid it through the gap in the window. 

"I had my accountant check it" he said. "Everything is in order." 

He turned to leave, body tense and footsteps minutely faltering. 

"Wait" the teller called and Bruce stopped, turning his head slightly. 

"Is it true?"

Bruce closed his eyes, let them see that moment of vulnerability. 

"Yes"

* * *

 

"Thank you" Bruce said quietly as he unlocked the Manor door. 

Clark smiled at him, leaning in and squeezing Bruce's shoulder. 

"Anytime"

They stepped inside, the door closing to cut off the chill. Alfred, Damian, Dick, Jason and Tim were in the foyer glaring at them. 

"And where have you _been?"_ Dick said, worry dripping from his tone. "We woke up and you were _gone_. No note, nothing! And then the news-" He took a breath and Jason stuck his elbow on his shoulder, leaning in. 

"Chill Dickiebird"

Dick sighed. "I just...sorry."

"We went to the bank" Bruce said quietly, stepping up to Dick and hugging him. Dick froze for a moment, body still tense and then it rushed out of him as he hugged Bruce back. 

"Are you okay?"

"Clark was there."

Dick squeezed him tighter as Damian wormed his way into the embrace. Alfred made his way to Clark's side, taking in the scene. 

"Why don't you stay for dinner Master Clark?"

Clark smiled at him. 

"Thank you, Alfred. I think I will."

* * *

 

He woke, body tangled in the sheets, eyes snapping open and a scream strangling itself  in his throat. The room was freezing, the shadows held _his_ eyes and the ghostly sensation of hands sent shudders through him. Sweat slowly dried on his skin and the sheets tightened their grip. Pain sliced through his chest as he sucked in breaths, panting harshly in the silence. 

He scrabbled at the sheets, ripping them apart and stumbling out of bed, landing on his knees with a dull thump. The lightning that lanced up legs cleared his head a little and he stumbled towards the curtains, pulling them apart and drinking in the moonlight. 

Then, the door crashed open, slamming into the wall and shaking the plaster loose. Damian flipped in, drawing a sword and glancing around the room. He saw his father and sheepishly sheathed the sword. 

"We heard a scream" he said as Tim and Dick rushed in, weapons in their hands. Jason followed them, yawning with one hand over his mouth and a water pistol clutched in his other hand. 

"You said no guns," he snapped, upon seeing their looks. 

"Bruce," Dick called, stepping towards him and reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. Bruce flinched, spinning around and throwing a punch in Dick's direction. Dick dodged, holding up his hands and backing away. 

"Whoa, okay then"

He frowned, tracking Bruce's gaze towards the other side of the room, to the far corner, and gestured for Tim to switch on the light. The corner was empty. He looked back at Bruce and immediately rushed over to pry his hands away from his arms. Blood beaded up from the long, white scratches. Bruce's nails scraped his arms as he struggled and Dick sucked in a breath through his teeth. 

"Easy," he murmured, twining their hands together. Bruce stared through him, trying to gulp in air. Dick held still, the others hovering nearby, but far enough to give them space. Eventually, Bruce shuddered and relaxed, body starting to slide down. 

Dick grabbed him, slinging one of his arms over his shoulders and letting Bruce lean into him. Tim moved next to him, supporting Bruce's other side, while Jason straightened out the bed.  Damian returned with a glass of water which he set on the nightstand  while Dick and Tim moved Bruce to the bed. 

"Good thing we were expecting this," Tim muttered to Dick as they got Bruce under the sheets. Bruce was still clutching at one of Dick's hands, so Dick got in with him, slipping his other hand underneath Bruce's shoulders and drawing him close. Bruce whimpered, a low sound, just on the edge of hearing and Dick tightened his grip, giving Tim a worried look. 

There was a whoosh as Jason drew the curtains together and then a dip in the bed as Tim climbed in other other side. He curled up on Bruce's other side, hand reaching to rest against theirs. Damian scrambled in after him, sticking his arm underneath Tim's and letting his hand join the pile. Dick raised his head, looking at Jason. 

"Joining us Jay?"

"I guess," Jason said, sliding in next to Dick and covering all of their hands with his. 

Darkness settled comfortably in the room as Jason settled the sheet around them. Dick's hand felt hot and he knew tomorrow, he'd wake up sweating. It was worth it. 


	16. Touch

"Why does everyone touch me?" Bruce asked Alfred once, in the early morning hours when they were the only two awake. Alfred paused, sugar spilling into the mug of tea in front of him. 

Light crept into the sky, meandering through the gaps in the curtains. The coolness of the night slowly faded as Bruce looked down at his own mug of tea, a pale golden color. 

Alfred put the spoon into his tea, stirring slowly. 

"I suspect," he said carefully, "they want to know that you're alright." 

Bruce frowned at him, fingers tightening on his mug. He kept his gaze on the tea, tried to absorb its warmth. 

"They never wanted to before." 

Alfred sighed and took a long sip of his tea. His throat burned and fire spread through his chest. 

"I cannot speak for them Master Bruce," he said. "I can only tell you my suspicions."

Bruce sipped at his own tea, breathing in the taste. He closed his eyes, listened to the silence of the house, the breathing of Alfred across from him. 

"Diana asked first," he said eventually, fiddling with the cup and causing a few drops to spill. He gripped the mug tighter; it creaked a little. 

"I...I don't mind," he said quietly, voice soft and uncertain. "But, sometimes, I wish they'd _ask_ first. "

Alfred set his tea down with a loud thump, brown liquid splashing over the side, a miniature waterfall. He leaned forward, elbows digging into the wood of the table. He gestured to Bruce's hands, still gripping the mug. 

"May I?"

Bruce hesitated the warmth of the mug an anchor that kept the whispering, deprecating thoughts at bay. He swallowed more of the tea and nodded as it sank like a heavy stone into his stomach. 

Hesitantly, Alfred rested his fingers on Bruce's wrists. His thumb was on the pulse point and Bruce knew he was counting the heartbeats. The heat of skin against his grew and grew until it was burning and he yanked his hands away, the mug spilling more tea onto the table. The sensation of touch lingered on his skin afterwards, making it prickle. 

He snuck a glance at Alfred, surprised not to see hurt in his eyes. Alfred kept his hands flat on the table, golden brown liquid soaking into his skin. His skin itched and he removed his hands from the mug to claw at it. 

" _Master Bruce_!"

Bruce looked at him, eyes a little blank. He looked at his hands, bloodied fingernails starting to chip. He scratched at his arms again, skin pulling apart and blood spilling down. 

"It itches _,_ " he said, words breaking apart and falling. Hands slid up his arms, sliding down his shoulders. The smell of stale paper clogged his throat and something inside his stomach tried to claw its way out. He swallowed it down, throat locking up and stomach trying to devour itself from the inside out. 

He stuck his hands in his air, nails digging into his scalp. The room's temperature was dropping and he started to shiver. 

_"You're pretty for a guy with a lot of scars."_

_The ceiling of the vault was a cold white, streaked with dust. His eyes tried to follow the patterns, sliding shut and rapidly snapping open._

_A hand touched the long scar on his chest, traced it down to his hip. The other slipped upwards, traced around his stomach to run up his back. Lips touched his neck, warm and slimy._

"Master Bruce!" 

Alfred's voice sounded right in his ear and he jerked, the rest of his tea spilling over his hands. The lights were on, harsh and glaring, the kitchen door was open, light spilling into the darkness beyond and Alfred was next to him, a glass of water in his hands. Bruce took it and drank. 

His breaths came harshly and he tried to take in deep ones, but his throat was closing up and there were hands on him again. _He_ pinned him down and he tried to kick out, but a hand grabbed his leg. The touch burned; he screamed. 

The boys came running, skidding through the doorway to see Alfred jerk away, horror branded into his face. In front of him, Bruce twitched on the floor, limbs curling up into themselves. 

Tim took a careful step forward, steadying Alfred as he stumbled. 

"What happened," he whispered. 

"Don't touch him" Alfred snapped to Dick as he got closer to Bruce. Dick paused, looking back at him, then moved away, getting a towel to clean up the spilled tea. 

"We can't _just_ leave him like this!" Jason said, body tense and hunched in, slightly, upon itself.

Alfred sighed. "We won't, _but_ " - he held up a warning hand - "we have to ask before touching. It was Master Bruce's request." 

There were several moments of silence before Jason spun, hand clenching into a fist to punch the wall, plaster scattering on the counter. 

"Shit"


	17. Hallucinations

As always, dawn found him in the dark. The bats squeaked, the sound an easy symphony. Pieces of the suit lay scattered on the floor, red gouges on his skin. Blood dripped down, creating abstract patterns on the floor. Fingers slipped on the keys, an analysis running on the far left. To the right, an alert flashed, red and glaring, its sound muted.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs, a batarang embedding itself into the wall, strands of black hair falling.

Dick raised his hands, felt his hair and frowned.

“You could have just told me I needed a haircut,” he said, stepping into the cave. "Batarang haircuts are awful.”

He tugged at the strands, holding them up to the light for inspection. Bruce turned back to the computer, the analysis beeping. The alert was still flashing.

"Take a little off the ends and you’ll look fine,” he said.

Dick frowned and dropped the strands, stepping forward.

_Clack_

One of the armoured shoulder plates rolled away from his foot. He looked down at the pieces of the suit scattered across the floor, up at the way the cape was drawn tightly around Bruce’s shoulders.

“What happened,” he asked, quietly.

“Ivy,” Bruce growled, jabbing at the keyboard. The alert flashed again and he swiped it away, other hand scratching at his skin.

“She’s combined her pollen with fear toxin“

Blood dripped in the corner of his eye, glimpses of pale flesh burning and a laugh that seared through his soul. Heat on his skin, nails dipping into cuts and widening them further, Dick’s face twisting into Jason’s, his parents, his own.

The bats screamed as he fell backwards, chair crashing to the ground, the vine around his ankle yanking him upwards.

Rain sizzled on his the bare parts of his face, vines sliding away to leave him gasping on the ground. Bare skin met cold tile, wind blowing through the torn open ceiling. The cowl lay on his face, heavy and sticky.

He reached upwards, steel manacles branding themselves into his wrists, the sharp smell of burnt flesh. Hands slid up his legs, tugging at him, the friction burning.

_"Finally, I have the Bat”_

The voice from the bank, _him._

A tongue flickering out to stab his skin, stab into him. The cowl yanked off and stuffed into his mouth. The sound of the zipper tearing itself open shattering his ears.

Pain

Water piercing his eyes, rising to fill him up and mixing with the fluid inside. Eyes closing, mouth opening to gulp down water, a slowing heartbeat.

Opening his eyes again to a dark sky lit with falling pieces of wood and traces of mad laughter on the wind.

He stepped through the wreckage, booted foot landing on a hand, smashed up bone jutting out of blackened flesh. Something landed on his head, hooking onto one of the cowl’s ears and dangling down; the Robin mask, frayed at the edges, pieces of skin stuck to the opposite side.

He dropped to his knees, the impact forcing his teeth together, held the mask in his hands and screamed.

The earth cracked open, the void swallowing him, eating away at his skin. His blood fell, eating away at the pile of bones beneath him, bat and human.

There was a man in front of him, wearing all black with a cape of blood, a white s on his chest.

_"Your blood is tainted,” he said, “you are tainted.”_

Cold metal in his hand, the batarang embedding itself into the man’s face, him breaking apart into bats that flew around.

His knees thumped onto wet cobblestones, the weight of a gun in his hands, the glint of light upon white, round beads in the dark, his fingers pulling the trigger. The gun dropped, his mother’s name and his own scream reverberating through him.

A still beating heart in his hands, the Joker’s body lying beside his. Jason and Barbara standing in front of him, arms crossed across their chests.

_"There is one more person left,” they said in unison._

He looked up at the theater in the distance, a showing of Zorro at 9pm, then at the alleyway around him. There were no bodies here. The gun was in his hands again, cold metal freezing his hands and weighing him down.

_"The Bat was born here,” his voice muttered as he raised the gun, settling it just beneath his ribs. "The Bat shall die here.”_

Fingers pulled the trigger, body falling backwards becoming rain. The sky ripped open, mirroring his skin; his own voice sobbing apologies, words blurring together, turning into light that dissolved him.

There was rain on his face, on the parts where cowl gave way to bare skin. The air smelled of freshly tilled earth and jasmine, cloying. He took a shallow breath, lungs stabbing and raised his head to look at Ivy.

Ivy stared back at him, wide-eyed. Her eyes flickered down, towards the gouges in his neck. Vines slid away from him, tangling over each other in an attempt to escape.

He got to his feet, ripping off the dangling skin at his wrists. Breathing abraded his throat and dried blood flaked off his hands.

"What happened to you?” Ivy whispered, stumbling back at the look in his eyes.

He stepped away from her, turning his back.

"You don’t need to know. “

The darkness closed its ranks around him as he walked away, footsteps a steady beat. Far behind him, Ivy’s plants drew closer as she shivered.


	18. Interview

Today, when Lois walked up the driveway, the sky was a light grey, what passed for sunny in Gotham. Clark’s car wasn’t there this time, but there was a black bike sprawled across the steps. L 4 DEAD read the license plate and she assumed this was the new one Jason had bought.

 _“I think it’s his way of coping”_ Clark had confided in her one day. _“Bruce always looks exasperated and guilty though.”_

She frowned at it, frowned at the house just as the door swung open and Alfred beckoned her in.

“He’s had a rough time of it lately,” Alfred said after she had stepped inside and they had exchanged pleasantries.

Lois nodded. “I can imagine”

Alfred shook his head and lead her down the hallway.

"You cannot,” he said, “ _None_ of us can. He had a run-in with Ivy on Monday.”

Lois shuddered. Ivy’s new fear toxin laced pollen had been making the news and there had been no sign of the Bat all week.

They stopped in front of a thick, but plain wooden door. Alfred knocked gently and the door opened inwards.

Lois fought back a gasp. Bruce was thinner than the last time she saw him; the dark circles more pronounced. His body shook, small shivers running up and down, but forcibly stilled when he saw Lois.

Lois gave him a smile; it trembled at the corners and Bruce frowned. She stepped in as Alfred closed the door behind them.

“Hi” she said, voice shaking. “How are you?”

Bruce’s frown deepened and he sat down at the edge of the couch, fingers digging into black leather.

“Well enough,” he said shortly.

Lois sighed and opened her purse, withdrawing a familiar looking disk. She placed it on the coffee table between them with a clack. Bruce picked it up, turning it over and over, hands visibly shaking.

“Clark gave this to you.”

Lois shook her head, sitting down in a nearby armchair.

"It was mailed to _me_ ,” she said. “ _I_ gave it to Clark”

Bruce took a breath, put the disk down on the table and slid it back towards her.

“Why are you here?”

He leaned back on the couch, body twitching before it forcibly settled, arms spread across the back.

Lois leaned forward, elbows on her knees, notepad open. There was no recorder in sight.

"Guinevere explained what happened in the video she sent us,” Lois said. "I want to hear your story.”

Bruce’s jaw dropped open, arms sliding down to fall at his sides before he grabbed the disk and stood up.

"Excuse me,” he said, the Bat’s voice layered underneath. “I need to watch this”

Lois stood up too, stepping into the edges of his space.

"I’m coming too.”

* * *

 

Bruce clicked the remote with shaking hands that violently stilled every few moments. The screen turned black and he pinched his nose, sighing deeply.

"I didn’t tell anyone,” Lois said. “Clark watched it with me.”

Bruce removed the disk from the player and handed it to her.

"You gave him the disk” he said, “that counts”

He turned away, looked at the closed window, covered by a thick beige curtain.

“I’m more worried about _her_ ,” he said quietly and Lois put her hand to her mouth.

"He may come after her,” he continued. The light edged away from him as it moved through the gaps in the curtains, escaping the house.

"She shouldn’t have done that.”

Lois swallowed, moving closer as Bruce turned to face her.

“I’ll survive” he said, even as the look in his eyes made her heart drop and stomach clench. “I always do.”

* * *

 

They sat in the study, Gotham’s gloom occasionally showing glimpses of stars. Lois sat across the desk from him, notepad open on her knees, capped pen resting atop.

"Where do you want to begin?”

Bruce picked up a stack of papers from his desk, shuffling them.

"I don’t even remember what I went there for,” he said, making a note on one of the sheets with a pencil. “It’s been such a long time.”

He put the stack down, on the opposite side of the desk, before picking up another.

“Six months,” Lois said, uncapping the pen and noting something down.

Bruce blinked at her, pen dangling from his fingers.

“It feels longer,” he said absently and Lois swallowed again. The stone in her throat going jagged around the edges.

Bruce closed his eyes, taking a breath. Something in his face shifted, hardened, the Bat rising to the surface. The softness in his voice stripped itself away, growl rising to the surface. He spoke, tone short, words no more than necessary; a report, Lois realized as the stack of papers slipped from his limp fingers.

Her own notepad was shifting around as she leaned forward, Bruce’s voice quietening as he described his family’s reactions. Lois’ pen made a sharp, black streak that ran off the edge of the page. She flipped it over, the rustle of paper bringing Bruce back to himself.

"We don’t have to continue”

Violently, Bruce shook his head, swallowing hard.

"There’s more”

The jagged stone in her throat tore itself free, falling downwards to bite at her stomach.

"Superman speaks highly of you, _Clark_ speaks highly of you,” he said and that stone became a boulder, rapidly starting to multiply.

“You treat the subjects of your interviews like _actual_ people,” he continued and Lois tightened her grip on her pen, hearing its cap fall somewhere on the carpeting. There was a question burning in her mouth, blowing away at his next words.

"I trust you to handle this with the same care you give your other stories”

Lois inhaled, straightened and nodded.

"A couple months after, I started getting sick. An ordinary cold, I thought at first, but the symptoms persisted longer than they should have, so I went to see our family doctor.”

Bruce stopped, laced his fingers together, tips whitening. Lois sat up straighter, gripping her notepad.

“I was diagnosed with HIV,” he said and the whole world lost its air.

The notepad fell to the floor, the pen following after. Lois made no move to pick them up, staring at Bruce with a shocked expression.

“Oh my god,” she said, mind spinning in innumerable different directions. “How are you holding up? Do they know? Does _Clark_ know?”

Bruce seemed to shrink a little, body straining as if he wanted to curl up.

"I,” he said, “am well enough. The medications have some side-effects.”

His lips quirked at the edges, in a way that wasn’t reassuring.

“They all know,” he said, “we have plans in place.”

Lois took a breath, bent over to pick up her pen and notepad, straightening with an uncomfortable expression on her face.

“I have to ask,” she began gently and saw Bruce stiffen, snapping to sharp attention.

“Has anything like this…happened to you before?”

He thought about the dark, the smell of cloying jasmine, the bush of hair as she leaned over him and the foggy alarm in his mind.

_“It wasn’t all bad was it?_

_"No”_ He thought about prickly light smoothing out around the edges, about his son hugging his mother, the slowly closing gaps. _“No, it wasn’t.”_

"No,” he said to Lois and hoped she hadn’t noticed the pause. “No, it hasn’t.”

Lois nodded, capping her pen and standing up. He rose too, body creaking.

“Sorry” -she gave him an apologetic smile- “I had to ask”

He nodded as he walked her to the door, Alfred waiting on the other side. She turned to look at him at the doorway.

“I’ll let you know when we’re planning on publishing the article.”

"Thank you”

She crossed the doorway then hesitated, turning back.

He stood in the doorway, almost becoming a part of it. Wariness engraved his frame and his shoulders had a slight slump to them. He raised an eyebrow, sluggishly inquiring.

"Take of yourself Bruce,” she said and gestured to Alfred to lead the way.

Bruce inclined his head and shut the door, slumping down to rest against it. Outside, the clouds rolled in, covering the stars.


	19. Reprecussions

Lucius Fox slammed the newspaper down onto Bruce’s desk and sighed, falling into a nearby chair. Bruce paused in his typing, moving the mouse so the Watchtower’s blueprints vanished.

“Our stock’s been fluctuating all morning,” Lucius said into the silence. “Deerfield’s pulled out of the deal.”

“Because of the stock.”

Lucius shook his head, frowning.

"They pulled out for personal reasons,” he said delicately. “They said some very unflattering things about you.”

"You don’t have to sugarcoat it,” Bruce said. “I can handle it.”

Lucius shrugged, leaning back in the chair.

"I know you can; I just didn’t want to repeat it. Even after all these years, hearing it still makes me queasy.”

Bruce hummed and resumed his typing. Outside the office came the faint murmur of whispers and Bruce reached over to flick the radio on. Ambient music filled the space. The phone didn’t ring though a notification of 75 missed calls and 500 messages flashed on the screen. The other, black, one in his pocket had three.

Lucius' eyes were on him, gaze tracking downwards, tracing injuries he couldn't see. 

"You going to answer those," he said eventually, gesturing to the phone. 

"No"

Keys slammed down, an adjustment to the blueprints, the model reconfiguring. He frowned, made another adjustment and Lucius sighed, standing up. 

"The Commissioner called," he said, walking towards the door, "said he'd stop by sometime."

"I'm gonna call Alfred" -he opened the door, the whispers abruptly falling away into silence- "Take him to some nice, quiet bar and drain their alcohol supply. "

"God knows that man needs it," he muttered to himself as he closed the door behind him. The typing didn't stop as the music grew louder and the whispers started up again, quieter this time. He walked to the elevator, pulling out his phone. The stock was still fluctuating. 

* * *

 

Rain splattered on the ground, trickled into the grooves of the black bat on the spotlight and extinguished Jim Gordon's cigarette. 

"You should stop smoking those things," Batman said from behind him and Gordon spun, throwing a punch that hit flesh, bone cracking beneath. Gordon stared at him, stared at his hand before dropping it down. Water dripped from it as their bubble of silence expanded until it blocked out the rain. 

Eventually, Batman moved, wiping away water and stepping out of Gordon's space.

"You should have told me about the video, the first one," Gordon said, chewing at the end of the cigarette. 

Batman shook his head. "I didn't know."

Gordon snorted, tossing the cigarette down and grinding it into dust. He pulled out an evidence bag containing a manila folder, Bruce Wayne written on the tab. 

"The video came out before we were done processing," Gordon said. "His statement got _misplaced_."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.  

"You should have told me to look," he snapped. "The truth was in there. We shouldn't have had to wait until _this" -_ he withdrew the newspaper from his pocket, waving it around - "came out."

He tossed it at Batman's feet, the words blurring together. Batman picked it up, gloved fingers tightening and tearing at the edges as he tucked it away.  Wind tugged at his cape, wrapping it around him, a blanket warding off the dark. 

Gordon frowned at him for a long moment, eyes trying to trace the contours he couldn't see, before sticking the file back into his coat. 

"Don't you want justice for him," he asked quietly. "He sacrificed himself."

Batman stilled, thunder piercing their bubble of silence as a flash of lighting lit them up. The rain grew sharper, piercing at his skin. Sound echoed oddly, loud and harsh in the open sky. His symbol was cast against the sky, dark against bright against dark, its wings suffocating. He took another step backward, tried to breathe.  

"Batman," Gordon said quietly, when he didn't answer. "What's going on?"

The dark coated his lungs, his mind, crawling in front of his eyes. Haunting laughter blending into the rain, brought along by the wind and he shook his head sharply. 

"Caught a trace of Ivy's new pollen," he said instead. "The antidote's taking time to work."

" _Liar_ ," Gordon said, stepping closer. 

Batman moved back, cape coming between them, heavy with water. 

"Think what you will," he growled, words grating at his throat as he drew the grapple from his belt. "I don't have time for this."

He aimed, fired and the hook caught on a nearby gargoyle as he stepped towards the edge of the roof. Gordon caught his arm as it came up and his body flexed, twisted until Gordon hurtled through the air to skid onto the ground and hit his head on the far wall. 

Lightning struck again and as Gordon got to his feet, he thought he saw something like fear cross the Batman's face. Then, as he walked forward, hand braced on his side, the Bat leapt and fell away into the dark. 

Gordon slumped back, against the wall and stared at the space beyond the rooftop. It was time to meet Bruce Wayne. 

* * *

 

Bruce Wayne opened the door with a purple blooming bruise on the left side of his jaw, exactly the spot where Gordon had punched Batman. They stared at each other for a few moments, Gordon noticing the way Bruce's arm hung against his side and the faint twitches in the one holding open the door. Silently, Bruce stepped aside to let him in.

"Why now," Gordon asked as the door closed behind them with a thud that he felt in his bones. 

"You needed to know" Bruce said simply, as they moved through shadowed hallways. 

Gordon made a noncommittal sound as they moved passed tightly shut doors, memories of lighter days. 

"You don't seen surprised," Bruce said as they climbed a flight of stairs.

Gordon snorted, stopping on a step and giving Bruce a flat look. 

"I knew my daughter was Batgirl," he said. "I knew from the moment I saw her move and who else does she spend time around the most?"

"I'm sorry," Bruce said and they continued up the stairs. 

Outside them, the storm still swirled, the sky pounding Gotham with its wrath. Thunder shook the house, wind screaming through its gaps. The lights flickered, the hum of the wires making Gordon's teeth ache. Carpet muffled their footsteps as they moved through the hallway, the sound a muffled heartbeat. 

The door to the study stood open, light brokenly spilling out. Bruce gestured him in, leaving the door open.  

"The power might go out soon" he said in response to Gordon's look. "We'll need all the light we can get."

"Not afraid I'm going to arrest you," Gordon asked as soon as they both crossed the threshold. 

Bruce shook his head. "You wouldn't. You know The Batman is needed."

Gordon sighed, collapsing into a nearby chair. "God help me, I do."

Thunder punctuated the pause, lightning illuminating their tired faces, something lurking in the stillness. Bruce moved, stepping around to the other side of the desk, picking up a folder. 

"Guinevere gave us a name," he said handing the folder to Gordon. "I need you to find him before Red Hood does."

Gordon flipped through the folder, pausing when he came to a picture of dark purple indents in pale skin, a large hand bruised into the skin. He set the folder down with a thump and Bruce looked out the window. 

"I got them documented," he said quietly, voice nearly lost in the storm. "Went in disguise, somewhere anonymous. I didn't want-"

Rain slammed against the window, slipping through the cracks and dripping down the windowsill. The puddle on the floor was slowly spreading and in a few more hours would swallow up the chair legs. Gordon's hands twitched, very aware of the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. 

"I'll make sure this gets to the right people," he said, tucking the folder into his coat. 

Bruce nodded, still looking away. "Thank you"

He tapped the windowsill, running his fingers through the water and turned to look at Gordon, eyes dark. 

"You will have to do without _me_ for sometime," he said. "I've been forced to take a vacation."

Gordon laughed, sound drowned out in the thunder.

"Good," he said. "You need one. Your coworkers gonna be around?"

Bruce nodded, finally stepping away from the window and out from behind the desk. 

"Someone will be. Use the signal if you want to get in touch." His voice dipped into the Bat's register, but his body trembled a little; Gordon hoped it was from the cold. 

He swallowed, taking a careful step forward. Lightning flashed again and Gordon imagined he saw Bruce flinch. He stopped, the desk still partially between them. 

"How are you holding up?"

Bruce stiffened, spine straightening. Gordon could see him forcibly still the trembles and he took a step back, fingers drawing out the cigarette packet from his coat pocket. 

"You got a light?"

Bruce slumped a little, reaching behind to open one of the desk drawers. He withdrew a lighter and passed it to Gordon. 

"Thanks"

Gordon flicked it on and lit the cigarette, silently holding the pack out. Bruce took one, flipping it between his fingers. 

"The others think I could be coping better," he said after a moment. 

Gordon exhaled smoke, diffuse white curling throughout the room. After a moment, he extended the lighter; Bruce shook his head. The moment shortened, time slipping away. 

"The city'll be here when you get back" Gordon said and let himself out. 

Bruce remained in the dark, the puddle of water surrounding his feet growing larger by the hour. Lightning outlined him as he drew the cigarette down his palm, down his wrist. Outside, the wind howled. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	20. Betrayal

Warm sunlight pierced his eyes as he lay in bed, mind foggy and mouth dry. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance amidst the rustle of leaves and a distant whooshing sound. The blanket atop him was a light weight on his skin, soft cotton with a minty smell. The ceiling was a light cream, accenting the umber walls. 

Slowly, he sat up. His head pounded a little and the room spun gently, nausea stirring in the pit of his stomach. 

His clothes were different. Cotton pajamas instead of the button up and pants he had been wearing at dinner. 

Dinner, he had been having dinner in the manor. 

He scrambled out of bed, the blanket falling to the floor, and stumbled towards the window, sharp spikes of pain running through his head as he took in the view. 

There was a beach, tidy white sand sloping gently downwards until it met turquoise ocean. A cluster of palm trees was to the far right; the rest of the island stretching outside of his sight line. 

He staggered backwards, collapsing onto the bed before lurching upwards and yanking open the closet door in the far corner of the room, wood splintering underneath his grip. The only part of his body that hurt was his head, but that didn't mean.... 

A mirror hung on the back, full length and perfect. He took a breath, closed his eyes and pushed his pants and boxers down, lifting up his shirt slightly. 

He opened his eyes to pale skin, covered in scars and nothing else. 

Legs wavering, he sank to the floor, dust sticking to his pants as cold soaked into the back of his legs. His heart was still pounding and he let his shirt fall, the feel of cotton against his skin making him jump. He sat there for a few moments, absorbing the cold as his breathing attempted to regularize, heartbeat slowing in fits and starts. Eventually, it settled into a slightly unsteady rhythm and he moved, slowly getting to his feet.  

The last thing he remembered, had been dinner at the manor. Then, the feeling of tiredness, of hands moving him in the dark, attempting to fight and waking up here. 

His eyes widened, a thought slamming into him with the force of a punch. Alfred, _Alfred_ had cooked, had put something in the food. 

_Why?_

Stop. Think. Remember. 

The signal projecting onto the clouds, clawed wings reaching for him, meeting Gordon on the roof. 

_"Don't you want justice for him"_

He had thrown Gordon into the wall, could still hear the rain and the piercing snap of bone that roseabove the storm, had jumped off the roof and stumbled home to an argument. 

_"You're going to kill someone Bruce, most likely one of us!"_

Jason, wide-eyed and angry, yelling words that sliced through him and left him bleeding. Dick and Damian talking to Alfred in low whispers and Tim...Tim was looking up islands. 

Bruce met his eyes in the mirror, a stone plummeting through him. They had planned this, all of it. 

* * *

 

Water lapped at his toes, cool enough to make him shiver. The thump of someone landing on sand made him jolt and he spun around, hurtling a coconut at Clark. 

"Of course they would have gotten _you_ involved," he snarled and moved to pick up another coconut. "Who else could have gotten me here so fast before it wore off. What did they _use_ on me?"

His head still pounded, the dry feeling in his mouth not going away no matter how many glasses of water he drank. His body tensed, feet digging into the sand.  

Clark swallowed, dodging the second coconut. He took a step closer, too close and Bruce moved back, water going up to his knees. 

" _Stay away_ "

Clark stumbled backwards, kept going until there was a good amount of distance between them. The look on his face sent a sharp happiness through Bruce and he glared at him. 

"Tell the others to stay away," he snapped. "They've done  _enough_."

Sand stretched between them, the sun burning down. Clark shifted, feet lifting off the ground, moving towards him. Bruce stepped back, wading deeper into the water until it came towards his chin. Sill Clark came closer and closer. 

"Bruce..." Clark said as if talking to a wary animal.

"What part of _stay away_ , don't you understand?" He snapped, hands scrabbling beneath the surface. His fingers closed around a rock; Clark was almost upon him. 

"S _tay away_!" 

His arm came up, flinging the rock towards Clark's face. The light caught a green glint as it sailed through the air, both of their eyes widening as it pierced Clark's skin, blood tricking down his forehead. Clark swallowed flying backwards until he reached the shore. 

"I'll leave you alone then," he said and Bruce could hear the shock in his voice. 

Bruce stayed in the water, watching Clark fly until he was a blur of fading red in the distance. The water grew colder as the light receded. Slowly, he made his way to shore. 

* * *

 

When Clark landed on the balcony, all of them were waiting for him. He settled down with a soft thump, Alfred already coming forward with a bandage. 

"How is he," Dick asked. He wasn't in his suit, none of them were. There were five glasses on the small table next to him, pale drops of juice still in them. 

"He threw a rock at me," Clark said blankly. "A _kryptonite_ rock"

They stared at him as Clark wiped at the dried blood on his forehead. Blood still leaked sluggishly from the wound. 

"So, not well," Jason said, eventually. 

Clark swallowed, leaning heavily on the railing and causing it to creak slightly. Dick opened his mouth, but shut it after a glance from Alfred. 

"He was _afraid_ ," he said after a long silence, "afraid of _me_."

Crickets chirped softly, the sound deepening the melancholy atmosphere. Alfred cleaned the cut, hands shaking as he taped the bandage over it. 

"I knew this was a bad idea," Tim said, getting five nearly identical glares. 

"You went along with it _Drake,"_ Damian said, body shifting into a fighting stance. Dick placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head silently. Damian growled, but shifted out of the stance, glare never leaving Tim. 

"Because _someone_ had to make sure you guys didn't get out of hand," Tim snapped. 

"Well it obviously didn't work" -Damian gestured to the bandage on Clark's forehead - "just look at Kent here."

"That's because you didn't listen to my suggestions!"

Next to Clark, Alfred sighed, cleaning up the cotton balls around them. 

"Can we see him Master Clark?"

A sensation similar to the feeling of being in space swept through Clark as everyone turned to look at him, moving in eerie unison. He noted the well concealed hope in their gazes as his arteries strangled his heart. He swallowed, hard. 

"He," Clark began hesitantly and saw them all stiffen, hope slipping off their faces, "doesn't want to see us, _any_ of us."

Alfred dropped the cotton, bloody balls scattering on the floor. His shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh. 

"I knew I shouldn't have drugged him."

Across from him, Damian's mouth fell open. 

" _You_ drugged him? I put a sleeping pill in his drink!"

He shifted under their heavy gazes, feet tapping the marble.

"Grayson said it was a good idea," he muttered, crossing his arms and looking away. In front of him, Alfred's face turned paler and he swayed where he stood. 

"I put one in his food," he whispered. " _Oh,_ Master Damian, you must _never_ tell him." 

" _Why?_ " Damian stalked forward, eyes narrowed. 

Alfred swallowed, eyes flickering around the room and fear welled up within Damian. Alfred never lost composure like this, _never_. He stopped halfway across the gap, fingers gripping his pant leg. 

"Your mother," he said, "she...."

"No," Damian whispered, eyes widening. " _No_ "

He knew his mother, knew what she was capable of, had listened to the rumors that surrounded her relationship with his father.  

"She drugged him," Alfred confirmed and Damian felt the world crack into pieces. 

 _"You're just like her,"_ Bruce had said to him once, after he had finished a simulation. Something in his expression had made Damian's stomach twist and attempt to crawl up his throat. Now, with Alfred's words, he could finally put a name to it.  Fear

* * *

 

Bruce woke, body thrumming. His body felt heavy and there was a weight between his legs. He shifted, the feel of the sheet on his skin, sending shivers through him. He throbbed down below and he blinked at the ceiling, faint nausea twisting through him.  

He hadn't taken his pills since last night. The nausea should have worn off by now.  

He swallowed, closing his eyes tightly, trying to recapture the feeling of nightmares, anything but _this_. 

His body throbbed again, liquid leaking into his boxers. He should really get up and shower. There were still granules of sand stuck to his skin, the itch running down and centering in his groin. Another throb and he moved, hand sliding downwards.

He looked at the ceiling again. There was a long crack in one corner, making its way towards the center. He should get that fixed. He shook his head, the pillow shifting underneath, mouth falling into a thin line.  _He_ wouldn't take this from him. 

Blunt nails pressed into his skin as he slipped his hand beneath the waistband, fingers catching in the hair. 

The nausea rose again, sharp and sour. He swallowed, cheeks heating as he ran his hands over the length of himself. 

There was hot breath on his skin, damp with exertion. No, it was just the breeze;the windows were open. 

Broken fingernails dug into his skin and a rough hand stroked him from root to tip. His lungs seized as he stroked faster, feeling desire twist into the nausea, both of them equally overwhelming. 

Pants echoed in the room, the smell of stale paper potent.

He slowed down, took deep breaths. It was just him in a room that smelled of wet salt and burnt sand. This was his hand, his body. There was no one else here. 

A tongue touched the inside of his thigh, licking a wet horizontal stripe. The throb grew faster, more present, insistent as he exhaled sharply, body tensing. 

_"You're so pretty like this"_

He yanked his hands away, gasping. More liquid trickled down as the sharp coppery scent of blood hit his nose. He needed to shower. 

He slid out of bed, stumbling into the bed frame. The bathroom was a few steps away and he pushed the door open, flicking on the light and turning on the tap with shaking hands. 

He stepped in, letting the cold quell the sticky heat. The echo of his chattering teeth was louder than the water as he leaned against the tile, sliding down to slump on the floor. 

The desire fled quickly, leaving nausea to vibrate through him, curling in on itself to form a hard lump that sank into his heart. Water ran down his face; it tasted like salt. 

* * *

 

Day five started with his feet pruned and sunlight pounding down on him as water moved out from between his toes. His back ached, muscles screaming at him to move. He groaned, sitting up slowly and bending over, letting tension seep out from his lower back.

The island was mostly quiet, faint chirps occasionally rising from the trees and the constant sound of waves making slump and lie back on the sand.  Water moved in, soaking his bare legs before receding outwards. There was no one on the island but him, he had checked that first day, walking by the shoreline until it got too dark to see. 

He groaned again, slowly rolling to his feet and stretching. His body twinged, skin tight against his bones. Sunlight caught pale crescents scabs scattered on his arms. He'd have to hide those. 

He walked back to the house, sand sticking to his feet, making him stumble forward, hands sinking into the sand. He pushed himself up, the scabs on his arms throbbing. A sliver of memory, of words whispered underneath dim lights threatened to swallow him up. Forcibly, he shook his head and continued on, stomping his feet on the doorstep to shake of the worst of the sand. 

The door opened to a pale wood floor covered in waves of white sand. He'd forgotten to sweep them out again. 

He stepped inside the bedroom, saw the pile of clothes on the bed and stopped. Right, today was the day, he'd decided to call Clark. 

There was no phone in the house, no recording devices of any kind, a mercy he shouldn't have needed. Clark was the best chance at getting in touch with _them_. 

He showered, then slipped on the clothes with trembling hands, trying to think of them as armor. But, they couldn't _be_ armor, not when they were so easy to rip, to _break_. He should get the board to invest in stronger fabric. He straightened the shirt and took a deep breath. 

"Clark"

A moment of silence, then a faint boom to the North, a gust of wind that made the sand on the beach rise into a miniaturize twister and Clark was there in the room. 

He drank Bruce in, hovering in the doorway, eyes moving slowly over his body. The clothes definitely weren't enough. His skin prickled and he took a step backwards. Clark flinched, body vibrating with tension.

"I'm fine," Bruce said sharply, glaring at him when he tried to open his mouth.

"Tell the others I'm ready to see them," he continued, crossing his arms. "I don't suppose you'll let me go back to Gotham?"

Clark frowned, sinking down a little until his feet barely touched the ground. 

"Not yet," he said, quietly. "That's for the others to decide."

"I _see,"_ Bruce said, something void in his tone. He took a step forward, Clark moving out of the way. 

"Call the others. We need to _talk_."

* * *

 

After Clark left, everyone showed up in a matter of hours. Bruce wondered how long they'd been waiting, how long Clark had been listening for his call. He spun around when he heard footsteps, back pressing up against the far wall, in the corner of the room. 

They shuffled in, eyes fixed on the floor, sneaking quick glances at him. 

" _What_ ," Bruce said, "made you think that this" - he swept his arm out to indicate the window and the island beyond - "was a good idea?" 

None of them were brave enough to speak. 

" _You_ drugged _me_." He pointed at Alfred, hand shaking. "I was _going_ to take the vacation. I was planning." 

His voice cracked, wetness appearing in it, in his eyes. Alfred's face crumpled in on itself and Damian couldn't stand it. 

" _I_ drugged you," he said and immediately regretted it as his father's face blanked out, something terrible in his eyes. His shoulders slumped, trembles starting to get more violent. 

Damian took a tentative step forward and Bruce _flinched_ , body scrunching up and pressing into the sides of the corner. 

"You're just like _her_ ," he whispered, gaze distant. "I had _hoped_ you wouldn't _be_."

His breath caught in a sob as he dropped his head into his hands. Damian swallowed, hands clenched in his cape. He wavered in place, feet rooted to the ground, but about to fall over at the slightest breeze. He opened his mouth, shut it as his throat dried and voice stayed locked inside him.

Dark spots appeared on the floor near his father's feet and there was a sniffling sound. Abruptly, Damian realized they were tears. 

His body moved, flinging the door of the house open with a slam, booted feet kicking up sand as the sun burned through him. His face was wet.  


	21. Agency

Feet pounded on soft sand, kicking it up into clouds. The sun bore down, made sweat drip of his body until he skidded to a stop and bent over, panting.  Palm tress crossed over his head, a few coconuts scattered beneath them. The sky was silent, clear and empty, peeking through the trees an uncaring presence. 

Abruptly, he let out a yell, startling a few birds into flight, and spun around, punching the nearest tree until brown coconuts rained down around him. He kept punching until his knuckles split open and blood dripped onto the ground. There was a glistening smear of red on the tree. Eventually, his shoulders slumped and he leaned against the tree, eyes dry and red. 

The shadows lengthened, the sun sinking down and in the distance and the house lights coming on. There was a footstep behind him, light and tentative and a shaking hand reaching for his shoulder. He didn't turn, shifted his body away slightly and the hand dropped. 

"Damian"

He curled up tighter, drawing his knees in further to his chest. There was a shift in the air, the thump of a body settling onto the ground. 

"May I?"

He didn't move and his father sighed. Out of the corner of his eye, Damian could see his shoulder's slump. He looked thinner, more tired and Damian shut his eyes, squeezing them harshly. 

They stayed like that as the sun vanished beneath the horizon and the earth slowly turned away, towards the sheer expanse of space.  

"I'm sorry," his father eventually said and Damian jerked his head upwards to stare at him. 

His father swallowed, not looking away. 

"I should explain," he said, words engraved with weariness, "about her, about _us._ I-"

Damian held up a hand and his father fell silent, looking at him in something similar to apprehension. 

"I don't want to hear it," he said. 

His father nodded, eyes flicking down to his blood crusted knuckles. 

"We should take care of that."

Damian blinked at him, feeling very much like he was teetering on the edge of a revelation he did not want to have. 

"That's it," he asked. "You're not going to make me listen?"

His father shook his head, the ever present sadness deepening. 

"You told me no."

Nausea made its home in Damian's throat, pieces  slotting together to form another nightmare, this time one of their own creation. He swallowed, pushing back tears, and stood up on shaky feet. 

"We should get back," he said and kept his distance. 

* * *

 

Halfway towards the house, they were met by Dick. Dick's eyes flicked between them, noticing the distance and Damian's tenseness. 

"Everything okay?" He said, falling into step between them. Immediately, Damian tugged him closer, away from Bruce. 

"No," Damian said shortly and saw his father's hands tighten. Next to him Dick tensed and Damian ached to share the revelation. But, it needed to wait until they were all in one place. 

"No?" Dick echoed, steps slowing. 

Damian shook his head. 

"It's something none of us realized, but should have," he said and Dick stopped, causing Damian to stumble and let go of his arm. He looked up at Dick's somewhat teary expression. 

"No," he said sharply, "if you hug me Grayson, I will-"

Dick swept him up into a large hug, nuzzling Damian's face. 

"You've grown up so much!"

"Put me _down_ Grayson!"

He squirmed in Dick's arms, hands pushing lightly against skin. Bruce chuckled a bit and they stilled, glancing over. There was a very slight smile on his face, disappearing as quickly as morning mist. Slowly, Dick put Damian down, feeling the rest of the word rush back in, large and heavy. The door to the house opened, Tim sticking his head out to look at them all in concern. 

"Dinner's ready," he said. "You coming in?"

Damian straightened his clothes, brushing of sand in small waves. He walked ahead of them, quickly climbing the stairs. 

"Get the others," he muttered to Tim as he passed. "We need to talk."

* * *

 

Dinner tasted like ash, blood and burnt smoke. Dick swallowed it anyway; it would make Alfred feel better. He glanced at Bruce, still sipping from a glass of water that he had filled from the sink, no plate in front of him. 

"Are you sure you don't want anything?"

Bruce didn't look away from his glass as he answered. 

"I'm not hungry."

He took another sip of his water, studying the table with a single minded focus. Dick sighed and took another bite of his food. 

* * *

 

Damian stared at them all and didn't know where to begin.  

Outside, the night lightened, moon coldly glaring down, light further bleaching out the sand. 

"Where's the alien?" He said, eventually, starting to pace in the narrow space between the coffee table and couch.  

His fingers twitched, missing the weight of a sword. He felt a little off balance, not having Robin's belt around his waist. 

"He had to leave. There was a landslide in Tibet." 

Damian frowned, spinning around on his heel to walk in the opposite direction. He reached the other wall, spinning around again, the rest of his body slightly slow to follow. 

"Are we sure Bruce is asleep?" Dick said, glancing towards the other side of the hallway, where the master bedroom was. 

Damian's footsteps faltered and Tim shook his head. 

"No," he said, "but I don't think he's going to come out anytime soon."

"Besides, we'll hear him if he does," Jason said from his perch on the left arm of the couch. He stuck his legs out, causing Damian to bump into them and stop. 

"What are we doing here?"

All of them looked expectantly at Damian, who rubbed his forehead. More and more pieces had been clicking into place throughout dinner, the nightmare getting worse. He swallowed, sitting on the edge of the coffee table and looking down at the floor. 

"He wanted to explain about Talia," he began and the words tasted like sharp rocks cutting his tongue, "I didn't want him to and he stopped." 

None of the others spoke, gripped onto his words. 

"You know how he normally pushes things" -they all nod, thinking back to times of unwanted pressure - "he didn't this time"

Damian swallowed again, the miniature sun in his stomach burning. 

"He said it was because I told him no," he whispered, ground breaking apart beneath him. The sensation of falling never stopped, no ledge in the world could hold him now. 

_"We have to ask before touching. It was Master Bruce's request," Alfred said, holding up a hand as father shivered on the floor in the kitchen._

_Father's voice, anger underlain with fear of them. "You drugged me."_

"Damian," Dick said gently, kneeling in front of him, steady hands on his knees. "What's wrong?"

Damian swallowed a laugh. The entire _world_ was wrong, _they_ were wrong. They could never fix this.  

He scratched the table beneath him, the screeching sound making them all jump. 

"We never listened to his no's" Damian said, voice in small, shattered pieces strewn in the air.  

Dick inhaled sharply, hands tightening on his knees to the point of pain; Damian ignored it, staring through the pale walls at memories. On the couch, Jason laced his fingers in his hair, tugging at it and Tim picked one of the loose threads on his pants, unraveling the hem.  

In the silence of the room came a single sob from Alfred's corner. 

* * *

 

On the other side of the hallway, the bedroom door opened. Bruce stuck his head out, listening to Damian's low voice talk about their conversation earlier in the day. He stepped out, gently closing the door behind him, waiting to see if anyone heard. 

No, they were all too distracted. 

Still, he waited a few more moments, listening to his son talk, memories held at bay by the feel of the cold doorknob beneath his fingertips. Eventually, he let go and stepped further into the hallway. 

The  kitchen was close by, to the left where the hallway branched off. He stuck to the side of the wall as he walked forward, pausing after each footstep. There were soft sobbing noises from the living room. 

The countertops gleamed under the moon's light; Alfred had cleaned them and as he stepped forward, there was a shuffling sound from the living room. Carefully, he set his foot down, body tense. His heartbeat was loud in his hears and he could feel the artery in his left leg rapidly pulse. The shuffling stopped; the sound of sobbing didn't. 

He stepped further into the kitchen. There was still some bread left over and there was cheese in the fridge, nothing he'd have to use the stove for.  The sound of a footstep, a sharp gasp and he whirled around, slamming the fridge door. Tim stared at him with a confused expression that morphed into pain when he spotted the bread on the counter. 

"Tim?" Came the question from the living room. 

"I'm fine," Tim called back. "Just putting the rice away."

He stayed on the other side of the kitchen threshold, watching Bruce as he put the cheese block down on the counter. 

"I'm hungry now," Bruce said, tone defensive, but still maintaining the same flatness it had all day.  

"Can I come in," Tim asked instead. "I'm getting Alfred a glass of water."

Bruce paused, knife sticking out of the block. His hands tightened on the handle. 

"Is he okay," he asked, very quietly, eyes flickering in the direction of the living room. 

Tim's hands tightened on the doorframe, black bubbles welling up inside of him, about to burst. 

"He will be," Tim said. "Can I come in?"

Bruce blinked at him, slicing the cheese jaggedly. 

"Yes?"

"Thank you" 

Tim stepped in, keeping away from the counter next to the fridge. Luckily, the glasses were on the other side, closer to the sink. He opened the cabinet, mind tracking the parameters of the free space between them. 

Bruce moved close to him and Tim stepped away, turning towards the sink. He turned the tap on, ignored the clatter of the plate as Bruce set it on the counter. The glass in his hands shook. He opened his mouth, stared at the stream of white liquid. A memory tapped at the locked doors in his mind, the scene in the video, after. 

He shut the tap off with a slam, saw Bruce flinch out of the corner of his eye, made a hasty exit towards the hallway where he leaned against the opposite wall and tried to suck in air. The world never had enough of it anymore. 

* * *

 

By the time Tim entered the living room, Alfred had stopped crying.  Jason sat next to him, leaning against the bottom of the armchair and glaring at the air. Silently, Tim handed Alfred the glass and took a seat next to Jason. 

"Drake" - Damian crossed his arms, standing next to Dick and rocking slightly on his feet - "...we didn't have rice today."

Tim winced and closed his eyes, trying to choose words as carefully as he could. 

"I ran into Bruce," he said eventually and saw them all tense, limbs drawn towards the rest of their bodies and locking into place.  Dick opened his mouth, Damian stepped on his foot and Dick's mouth shut with a snap. 

"He was as expected," Tim said finally after a long period of silence. "I don't think he could have handled us all at once."

There was a soft rustling from outside the house, wind moving through the trees, and the faint whoosh of the ocean. The house creaked a bit, settling slowly on the ground, trying to get comfortable. 

"What was he doing?" Alfred's tone was normal, but with an undercurrent of despair that made Tim shudder and wince. 

"Uh," he started, shuffling his feet and looking at the floor through his knees.  

Alfred's face fell and Tim could see all of his years in the lines. He kept his eyes on the floor, eyes tracing the gaps in the dark wood. The threshold creaked and Bruce cleared his throat.

"Hi," he said, tone normal. He looked a little pale, but almost had the language of his usual self; a few trembles broke that illusion. 

"You can come in," Tim said, getting up from his spot on the floor as Alfred shifted. 

Alfred got up too, crossing the room with an urgency that Tim had only seen once before. There was the feeling of electricity gathering in the air, the ground picking up speed as it rolled and Alfred opened his mouth. 

"Master Bruce," he said and Tim shifted off of the balls of his feet and onto his toes, "you know we only did this to _help_ you."

Tim tried to take a breath, but found his lungs collapsing. He couldn't read Bruce anymore and the feel of electricity in air made the hair on the back of  neck rise. 

"I see," Bruce said, stones falling into deep water. "Will you keep me from Gotham?"

Tim started calculating how long it would take him to swim. 

"If need be," Alfred said and Tim swore he could hear something in Bruce slowly grind itself to nothingness. 

Behind him, Jason muttered a low curse and Damian shuffled backwards until he was behind Dick.  The sound of the ocean crashing against the beach echoed in the silence. 

 _"_ _Oh,"_ Bruce said, voice flayed apart and sounding very vulnerable. Then, he took a step backwards, kept stepping back until he reached the bedroom door, opening it with one hand behind his back. 

As the door closed with a quiet click, Tim thought of the sandwich in the kitchen, the locked door of the bedroom and felt a black hole open up in his chest. Next to him, Alfred's bones liquefied and he grasped at the floor with violently shaking hands. 


	22. Safety

Eventually, it's Tim who smuggled Bruce off the island while Jason distracted Alfred with various ideas for dishes involving coconuts.

Bruce hesitated in front of the manor door, eyes picking out all the points of vulnerability. There were more than he remembered, the manor seeming even more sinister than usual.

Some distance away from him, Tim shifted on his feet. Bruce waited a few moments, but as the birds whistled and chatted to each other, Tim still didn't speak.

Finally, he unlocked the manor door and swung it open. Silence and dust met him as he took a tiny step inside. There were no shadows as someone had gotten there before them and had opened every curtain.

He took another step, fingers slipping on the doorknob.

Tim grabbed the door, prevented it from closing and Bruce curled his fingers inwards slightly, gripping his slacks.

Dust coated his lungs as he inhaled, air burning his throat. Faint whispers of voices he had nearly forgotten sounded in his ears, just like the first time he had come back.

Tim shut the door behind them, the thud of the coffin lid closing and he tore a small hole in his slacks.

"Want me to put these upstairs," Tim asked quietly and he was still keeping his space, had been keeping his space ever since the kitchen on the island.

Bruce nodded, throat closed up and feet sunk into the floor. His eyes picked out every imperfection in the paint that covered the walls. There used to be wallpaper there. When had it changed?

His skin itched, sharp points that spread in fire down his back. He opened his mouth, tried to breathe. The world opened up beneath his feet and for a moment there was the smell of stale paper.

"Bruce," Tim said, standing on the stairs, concern flickered across his features before it slid away. "Perhaps you should go lie down?"

Tim's tone was always cautious now. The distance becoming a void between them. Bruce took a breath, lungs burning slightly and made his way to the study, towards the cave. Tim followed, still keeping that distance and Bruce clenched his jaw, teeth aching.

Tim's footsteps faltered as they reached the study. He swallowed, the sound making Bruce jump and spin around. Tim didn't look at him, eyes fixed on the clock in the study. Bruce followed his gaze, body starting to shake.

"There's something I should tell you," he said quietly.

The gravitational pull of the black hole that had opened up in his chest back on the island got stronger and he could feel his heart collapsing in on itself.

Across from him, Bruce staggered back, into the room, to collapse on the sofa. His body shook and Tim could hear him gasping as he tried to gulp air through a rapidly closing throat.

His own feet stayed melded to the floor, hands shaking.

Eventually, Bruce grew quieter and Tim could see his shoulders shaking. He took a breath, forced his feet to lift off the floor and leaned on the doorway.

"The code's noon now," he said. "Can I come in?"

Bruce pushed himself off the sofa, crossing the room with rapid steps to move the hands around. The clock swung open with a quiet click and he turned to blink at Tim.

"You gave me the code," he said, eyes narrowing a little. " _Why_?"

Tim stayed in the doorway, looked him in the eyes.

"We were wrong and we shouldn't have done that," he said and pushed himself off the frame and turned away.

"We need groceries," he said. "I'll call when I'm coming back."

Bruce frowned, knew Alfred kept the kitchen fully stocked, but nodded anyway and stepped closer to the clock, back facing the stairs. He stayed like that until the door opened and shut before carefully making his way down the stairs.

His feet echoed loudly on the steps and beneath him the bats rustled sleepily. Outside, it was still daylight and he blinked rapidly, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the dark.

The cave looked the same and something in him wanted to loosen, hope that the clock was the end of it. He took a breath, let it out in a long exhale and slowly made his way over to the console.

The computer beeped at him angrily when he typed in the password, flashing red.

_Access Denied_

He took another breath, steadied his fingers, typed it in again.

_Access Denied_

Another try

_Access Denied_

Another, the same message. The red burned into his vision, the angry beeps loud in his ears. The cave spun, black, brown and yellow blurring together until a loud hum drowned out everything except his surging heartbeat.

A blink, then the blackness of space dotted with stars. Gravity was lighter here, but there was air and he gulped in greedy gasps and let himself shake.

* * *

 

Jason's phone rang in the dark, a loud, cheery tone that had him failing out of bed and snatching up the phone to rapidly silence it.

"I was _asleep_  you asshole," he said, jabbing the speaker icon and setting the phone down.

"He's gone," Tim said, voice shaking. "He's _gone_ and I can't track him."

Jason stopped, blanket tugged down over part of his legs.

"You left him _alone_?! The fuck?"

"He needed space," Tim snapped.

Jason took a breath, flung the blanket back onto the bed and rolled to his feet.

"And look how well that turned out," he said. "Who else knows?"

"I couldn't reach Dick or Alfred," Tim said. "It's just us."

"What about the brat?"

Jason hopped on a foot as he pulled his boots on. The crackle of static obscured Tim's reply and Jason frowned, hiking up his pant leg to strap a knife to his leg.

"Where the fuck are you and why the hell couldn't you get a better phone?"

"Just crossed the tunnel," Tim said and Jason swore as he slammed into the closet door.

"Fucking hell, I gotta fix that light."

He ripped a shirt off a hanger and tugged it on, missing whatever Tim said next.

"I'm on my way," he growled.

"Not necessary," Tim said and Jason should have really been expecting the knock on the door.

* * *

 

He stood near one of the cave entrances, looking out at the black expanse of space and at the tiny blue-brown ball in the center. He slumped further against the wall, absorbing the utter silence that saturated the place and tried to scrape up the courage to turn, type out a message. Tim would be worried.

Part of him thought Tim could worry all he wanted. It was nice on the moon, empty and quiet; no one around but him.

He inhaled, the air full of moon dust but light. It went into his lungs easily, left them just as quickly. His muscles loosened, the ever-present tension in his shoulders finally disappearing. His entire body felt lighter too, though that could have just been the gravity.

He should really text them, stop them from coming after him, almost physically recoiled at the thought. Maybe just a few more moments.

A thought swirled up, one person he might be able to talk to without them coming after him. He swallowed, tasting dust in the back of his throat and focused on the planet in front of him. Out of all of them, Diana was the only one who had asked first.

He turned, walked to the console, typed in the password and stared at the screen for a long moment, feeling the ground beneath him faintly turn. Then, he pulled up Diana's number, audio connection only, and clicked call.

"Bruce," Diana said, warmly. "How are you?"

Bruce opened his mouth, paused, then closed it with a sigh.

"I could be better," he said, honestly.

It was always somewhat difficult and soothing to talk to Diana. Like Alfred, she had a way of getting him to freely admit things he would never tell anyone else.

On the other end of the line, she hummed and his ribs felt lighter, loosening their strangled grip on his heart.

"It will come with time," she said. "How are your kids?"

He tensed, feeling relief mix with disbelief. She didn't know.

He swallowed, forced his voice to be steady.

"They're fine," he said.

"How is your mother?"

"She's well," Diana said slowly. He could hear the frown in her tone and winced.

"What happened?" she said, sharply.

"Everything's fine," Bruce said, fingers gripping the edge of the desk.

Diana snorted and Bruce could almost hear the sound of the lasso as it was removed from her belt. The air chilled a little around him; he'd have to increase the temperature.

"You never miss an opportunity to discuss your children," she said. "And you asked about my mother. You almost never make small talk. _What_  happened?"

He shuddered, cold air pouring down his back, reached for the cape to tug it closer. It wasn't there, he wasn't in his suit. Why wasn't he in his suit?

Gravity grew stronger, dragged him down, the planet beneath him increasing in rotation and body sliding off the chair.

"Bruce," Diana yelled over the connection and he blinked to find himself tucked into a corner of the desk, curled inwards.

"I'm here," he croaked, joints locked into place.

There was a blank spot in his head. Several of them. Cold settled in his soles, surged upwards to freeze his heart. How did he get on the _moon_?

Through the speakers, Diana was saying something, but it fizzled out into static. Nails dug into his knees, blood trickling down.

_"Your blood is tainted. You are tainted."_

Blood sizzled through the floor. Oxygen leaked out. The blackness of space rushed in. Gravity left, body rising up to slam against the underside of the desk.

_"Bruce!"_

Diana's voice, frantic. Lungs seizing up, collapsing inwards. The sound of tears hitting rock. Foreign hands on his skin.

"-you"

Diana's voice cutting in and out. Earthquakes on the surface. The world spinning apart. Body lurching upwards.

Stop. Silence. Heavy breaths. His, they were his, there was no one else here.

"Bruce," Diana's voice came again, thick with fear. "Where are you?"

He makes a sound, a sob trying not to be, and falls backwards into a heap.

"On the moon," he says. The rest of the words get stuck, scraping his throat as he forces them out.

"Earth wasn't....it wasn't _safe_ ," he said in a quiet whisper and cut the connection with a snap.

The moon turned away, slowly. He shut his eyes, bit his lips, tried to stop himself from shuddering. The air grew colder.

* * *

  
Diana stormed through the watchtower, hair flying everywhere and getting into her face. Around her, various team members plastered themselves against the walls, practically diving out of the way.

"Kal," she yelled. The door to the conference room slammed open and fell off of its hinges.

In front of her, Clark jumped, chair clattering to the floor. Diana took a breath, fists clenched.

"We need to talk," she said, voice calm with an overlay of frost. " _Now_ "

Clark swallowed, but moved to close the door, waving off the concerned looks.

The moment the door closed, Diana whirled on him, hair flying around her face before she pushed it back, ripping a few strands in the process.

"I talked to Bruce"

Clark opened his mouth; she held up a hand.

"He told me what you all did."

Clark shut his mouth, sat back down, shoulders slumping and cape dragging on the floor.

" _What_ ," Diana said in a quieter tone, "were you _thinking_?"

Clark looked at her, didn't open his mouth. Diana placed her hands flat on the table, metal rattling and _looked_ at him, angry and grieving.

"Stop looking for him," she said. "He doesn't want any of you around."

Clark swallowed, the sound echoing through the room.

"Is he okay?"

Diana slumped forward, breathing out harshly. The table creaked again, small cracks appearing in the metal.

"No," she snapped, then swallowed hard, the weight of their conversation pressing down on her.

"He told me Earth wasn't safe," she whispered, eyes wet. "What have you _done_?"

Beneath them, the planet turned away from the sun as the tower's solar panels turned towards it. In the batcave on the moon, Bruce looked at it, fingers hovering over the teleportation keypad. Then, he pressed a button and the lights dimmed, the circle in front of him going dark. No one would be coming after him now.


	23. Guinevere

Guinevere couldn’t remember the last time she saw pure sunlight. Gotham’s sky was always a shade of grey, sunlight getting constantly filtered through clouds.

“Glad I’m moving,” she muttered as she walked past shuttered storefronts covered in chains and locks.

Gotham’s mornings were quiet, as its nights were not. She had only seen one car within the last half hour. She walked a little quicker, fingers curling in upon themselves.

The air had a bite to it, dead leaves blowing past her feet and into gutters. Up ahead was the rattle of a chain and a screech of a shutter raising. A green plus jutting out from the crumbling brick flickered on with a hum. Her eyes flicked to it as she got closer, then to the empty street.

She grinned, somewhat menacingly before she forced it into something gentler and stepped up to the open door.

“Hey,” she called, poking her head in. “You open?”

The man spun around, drawing out an axe from behind the counter. She held up her hands, wincing as a pulse of pain buried through her spine.

“Whoa,” she said, taking a step back. “I just wanted some painkillers. I’ve got money.”

He frowned at her, eyes focusing on the left side of her face; she hoped the bruise wasn’t showing through. Then, after a moment, he sighed and pointed to the shelves on the left.

“Over there”

“Thanks,” she said, ignoring his mutter of not opening for another five minutes.

Like every other drugstore in Gotham, the painkiller section was well stocked. This one in particular was stocked with brands she’d never heard of; a consequence of being just outside the Narrows.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she inhaled sharply. It kept vibrating as she grabbed the cheapest option, wincing as a spike of pain bloomed on her lower back. She could feel the hand-shaped bruise throb and knew she should have dumped the phone in the river on the way here.

She slipped it out of her pocket. Thirty messages from Thomas, all variations of where she was. This time she put it on silent and shoved it back into her pocket before walking up to the counter to pay. As she walked out the door, she swallowed the pills dry, the bank looming in the distance. Ten more feet to go and then, hopefully, safety.

* * *

The bank was nearly empty when she stepped inside, a few people waiting in line, one teller and in front of him, talking in quiet tones, their resident celebrity, Bruce Wayne.

In person, Wayne didn’t look any different than on TV or in the papers. Pant pleats sharp enough to cut and sparkling cuff-links to match his tie, he definitely didn’t look like he had gotten dressed for this bank. She swore those were actual sapphires.

She got into line. There weren’t many people, so hopefully it would move quickly. She gripped the bottle in her pocket, tried not to reach for the phone. Took it out and unlocked it anyway.

More messages, each increasingly violent. The last one just read, FOUND YOU, in all caps.

She dropped it back into her pocket, quelled the urge to run. The line was growing shorter, almost there. 

* * *

 

She had almost reached the front, when the doors slammed open.

“Hands in the air”

Thomas’s voice. She tensed, turning slowly, heart dropping rapidly. He had found her and was going to get other people involved and she knew she should have run at the first whisper of trouble.

No. Stop. He hadn’t noticed her, not yet.

She could still-

Thomas stepped in, eyes meeting hers and grinned, a shark in the abyss.

He stalked towards her, gun in hand, leering. She dug her nails into her skin as he leaned in closer, used the gun to trace her chin.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said, all cheerful, like he wasn’t going to rip into her the moment he dragged her home.

He bent to lick her neck and she shuddered. God, she really should have run earlier.

“Let’s have some fun”

He pulled back and she sucked in a tiny breath. Next to her, Bruce Wayne shifted to stand in front of her, forcing Thomas back into the center of the room.

Something in his face changed from cold calculation back into the flirtatiousness that he was so famous for in the tabloids. Her stomach twisted, nausea rising up.

“Come on,” Wayne said, voice as flirty as possible. “She’s not as pretty as me.” 

* * *

 

It was dark by the time the cops showed up. Guinevere frowned at them, frowned at the sky. Where was Batman when you needed him?

Thomas was long gone, had shoved Wayne out of the vault and disappeared into the rest of the bank while his men still held them at gunpoint after taking their phones.

Wayne had given her a faint, tense smile when she moved closer, like the smiles she used to give her mother. Guinevere’s heart never fully settled back in her chest after that.

Now the cops were talking to Wayne, crowding into him and she just _knew_ that he was forcibly keeping himself still.

Her phone buzzed and she answered after a glance at the screen.

“Mom,” she said, swallowing back tears. “Can I come home?” 

* * *

 

Guinevere flung the Gotham Times away, its pages fluttering to scatter all over the floor. Six months, _six_ months and not a _single_ correction to that story that ran the week after the incident at the bank.

She took a breath, got up from the couch and gathered up the pages. She’d have to get them out of the house before her mother found out and got that painfully guilty expression on her face again.

She walked by the coffee table and stopped. There was a video camera sitting there, her mother’s. She looked at it for a while, before taking the papers outside to the dumpster. Maybe, just maybe…

Her mother wasn’t home, wouldn’t be for another couple of hours. She could do this now while she still had the courage.

She took a breath, let the shudder move through her, before pushing herself off the doorframe and towards the coffee table. Outside, a dog barked and she jumped, glancing out the window before picking up the camera with trembling hands.

Her laptop was already open and already on the page of the YouTube video. She made a note to submit another request to get it removed before setting the camera down, facing her, on the desk.

She turned it on, licking her lips and swallowing before leaning forward.

“My name is Guinevere Barrett,” she started, voice hitching and hands starting to shake. She dug her fingers into the backs of her knees and fought to keep her voice steady.

“And I was one of the hostages in Gotham National Bank.”


	24. Search

Tim and Alfred sipped their tea in anxious silence. Next to them, Clark hovered, dirt sprinkling down off his boots. Tim gave them a sharp glace, but didn’t comment; Alfred didn’t seem to notice.

“She won’t tell me where he is,” Clark said miserably. “Just gives me this _look_ every time I ask.”

Alfred set his cup down, hand trembling. A bit of liquid splashed out, stained the table and Tim reached over to wipe it away.

Alfred kept his gaze on Clark and sighed.

“Perhaps it is for the best.”

Tim nearly dropped his own cup and Clark landed on the ground with a thump, knees buckling.

Alfred looked down into his tea, hands shaking harder, before taking a breath and looking at them.

“Gotham is not the place for him right now.”

 _“You took him away from his home!”_ _Diana had said, fists clenched and shoulders heaving with every breath. “How can this be fixed?”_

“It’s better if he stays away,” Alfred continued and something terrible welled up in Clark and he felt very much like when he fought Zod and destroyed the last remnants of Krypton.

_“What have you done?”_

Clark hovered again, cold working its way up from his feet.

“I have to go,” he said and barely waited for the acknowledgement before zooming out the door.

Tim stared after him, while Alfred continued sipping his tea. In his pocket, his phone buzzed, probably Jason asking for an update.

Silence weighed down the room, nearly buried him alive. He pushed his chair back and stood up, the scrape resonating. Alfred looked up, not even a question in his gaze.

“I’m going to check the cave again, see if I can track down the security footage.”

Alfred gave him a slow nod, looking more interested in his cup.

Tim left, made his way quickly down to the cave, spotted the orange bottle standing near the computer, felt himself tip over the edge of the cliff. Falling felt more frantic than before.

His hands shook as he picked it up, turned it over to look at the label. It was Bruce’s, still full. When was the last time he had taken these?

He cast his memory back, realized he hadn’t seen Bruce take his pills since he had shown Damian the bottle, told them all.

He dialed the Watchtower, got Diana and thrust the bottle towards the screen.

“Where is he? He hasn’t taken his pills.”

Diana frowned at him, leaning close to the screen to read the label. He moved his fingers, holding the bottle by the cap.

“ _Please_ ,” Tim said. “Tell us where he is.”

Diana shook her head.

“I will not betray his trust,” she said and held up a hand as Tim started to open his mouth.

“ _However_ , I can take them to him.”

Tim slumped, breath rushing out of him in a wave. His fingers twitched and he tapped them on the bottle.

“What if he gets sicker,” he whispered, mostly to himself. He looked up at her, eyes wide.

“We _need_ to find him Diana. _Please_ ”

Diana shook her head.

“I’m sorry Tim,” she said. “Send me the pills, I’ll give them to him”

The call cut off and Tim picked up the nearest object, a batarang, and contemplated the screen before him, running his fingers over the edges. After a long moment, he put it in one of his pockets and turned towards the transporter. Maybe there was something he had missed in the code. 

* * *

Faint lights glimmered in the dark as he stared out. Breathing was easier, but still shaky and his fingers twitched slightly as his arms dangled over the armrests of the chair, the rest of his body sprawled over it, nearly sliding off the edge.

Soft bells echoed throughout the cave at precisely timed intervals and he breathed in with the sound and out with the reverberations. Fog settled into his bones, rolled through him with a sigh. He breathed out, breathed in, silence a comforting blanket.

The computer chimed softly, an incoming call. He accepted, made sure it was set to audio only.

“Bruce?”

It was Diana.

He sighed, straightened a little and cleared his throat.

“I’m here”

He could feel the smile in her voice, warm and gentle, wiped away by her next words.

“I spoke to Tim,” she said, carefully.

He tensed, chair creaking a little as he sat fully upright.

“And?”

She inhaled and in the pause, the room grew colder, something simmering just at the edge of his senses.

“He says you forgot your pills.”

The pills, the orange bottle they had packed for him with the same number as before the island. How many had been altered?

“I wasn’t thinking,” he said slowly. “I just wanted to get _away_.”

He didn’t have the programs necessary to obtain the pills, not without giving away his location.

“I told Tim, I’d give them to you,” Diana said, tone cautious.

The virus would devour him. The moon might even make it the process faster. Perhaps, that wouldn’t be a bad thing.

“No,” he said, “not that one. It’s been opened.”

“Opened?”

Gasping echoed in his ears, his own. The smell of salt, of foreign sand poured over him and his blood burned.

“I’ll get a refill from Leslie when I come back.”

He couldn’t stay up here forever. He hadn’t bought enough supplies for that, hadn’t planned properly. The cave closed in on him and he opened his mouth, tried to breathe through stone, lungs collapsing in on themselves.

“When will that be,” Diana said, worried tones jangling on his nerves. “Tim said you haven’t been taking them for weeks.”

His vocal cords locked up, words cut off from the world. His body shook, blood burning, devouring him from the inside. The pale grey of the moon reached for him, tried to swallow him whole.

“Are they _still_ looking?”

He fought to keep his voice steady, knew he had failed by the sharp inhale across the line.

“What’s happening Bruce,” Diana said gently.

“I’m fine,” he said, voice crumbling.

He checked the computer again, made sure the shielding was holding. The oxygen levels were fine, yet there was no air in the room. Static buzzed in his ears, the world turning in a nauseating spiral as he slumped back into the chair. Diana’s voice sounded far off, making its way through layers of rock.

“I’ll call you back,” he managed to say and cut the connection.

The world quietened down, the static fading back into the hum of the machinery around him. His pulse ebbed away, settling back into a calmer rhythm. Fog covered his thoughts, eyes sliding shut, before snapping open, pulse picking up again.

He sat up, leaned forward, checked the computer again. The scramblers were working, obscuring any signals that were sent out. The trace of the call led to a telescope in Australia broadcasting signals into deep space.

There was a loud beep and he jolted, falling off the chair and lifting his head to look at the screen. There was an alert, red and rapidly flashing. Someone had pinged the cave. He traced it back to Gotham, confirmed it was the Manor, Tim. 

* * *

“Found him,” Tim murmured, staring at the map before him.

The topography of the moon was splayed out before him, a blinking red dot deep within one of the craters. The layers of security were very well done; it had taken him almost two days to crack after he had realized that Bruce was nowhere on the planet.

He tapped a couple of keys, fingers hovering over the keyboard before pressing another key. Immediately, the computer beeped and lines of code started scrolling down.

Footsteps sounded behind him, deliberately loud and Tim spun to look at Damian.

Damian frowned at him, arms crossed and eyebrows drawn together.

“Drake,” he said, leaning around Tim to look at the screen, “ _why_ are you looking at a map of the moon?”

Tim shrugged, reaching behind him to tap at a key. Immediately, the window with the lines of code minimized itself, disappearing into the various icons on the taskbar.

“Why not,” Tim said. “The moon is fascinating.”

Damian’s frown deepened and he stepped around Tim, avoiding Tim’s efforts to grab him.

“I thought,” he said, voice full of edges, “you had _stopped_ looking for Father.”

Tim slumped, hands falling to his sides.

“We _needed_ to find him,” he said quietly, gesturing to the orange bottle. “He hasn’t been taking them.”

Damian studied the map for a long moment before picking up the bottle and turning it over in his hands.

“You found him,” he said flatly, before slamming the bottle down.

“He’s on the moon,” Tim admitted, leaning over him to point at the screen. “There”

Damian flung an elbow backwards, whirling around to push him away from the screen.

“The moon,” he repeated, body bristling. “And it didn’t occur to you _Drake_ , that he didn’t _want_ to be found?”

“He needed to be,” Tim repeated. “He hasn’t-”

“Stop making excuses!”

Damian lunged at him with a snarl, sweeping his leg out. Tim dodged, flipped backwards. Damian came at him again.

“You ruined it! He’ll _never_ want to come  _home_ .”

Tim stumbled. Terror in Damian’s voice. A kick to the shins. Jumping apart from each other. Damian lunged.

Their bodies slammed together, thudding onto the floor. Teeth sunk into skin. One of them yelled. More dodging. Nails in each other’s face, clawing. Blood spattering in small drops around the room.

“ _Enough_ ,” came a voice from the monitor, angry and weary all at once, threaded through with just a hint of fear.

They stopped, turned.

Bruce looked back at them from the monitor, face unreadable.

Tim swallowed, wanting the pit in his stomach to expand further and swallow him whole. Next to him, Damian stilled, breath caught in his throat, heart trying to jump out of his skin.

Bruce inhaled and Tim could almost _hear_ the strain in his throat, vocal cords about to snap.

“You found me Timothy,” Bruce said, voice hollow, sad and _afraid_.

He’d never called him Timothy.

Tim opened his mouth, words stolen away, felt himself toppling over, despair soaking into every inch of him. The future unspooled in front of him, long nights staring up at the moon, of silences full of pain, spaces never filled. This wasn’t anything like what he had wanted.


	25. Separation

Tim listened to him speak, let the voice burn itself into his bones. This would be the last conversation they ever had and he wanted to remember all of it. The rest of the family wouldn’t speak to him once they knew. He’d have to tell them; he owed them that much.

He let the words slice him open, defenses down, let himself bleed where they wouldn’t see.

“It’s okay,” he said in a gap of silence. “I won’t be here if you come back.”

He had accounts, real estate not in Gotham. He could go down south, work to forget.

Next to him, Damian was quiet, warily still.

“It’s okay,” Tim repeated to them both. The hollow space in his head told him otherwise.

The gap stretched, widened into a chasm. Tim drank them in, engraved their faces into his memory, then turned. He left his back open, walking towards the stairs at a slow and steady pace. Neither Bruce nor Damian moved, silent, watching him go. Tim didn’t look back. 

* * *

Seattle was always too windy for his tastes.

Jason adjusted the binoculars, zoomed in a little further. His target stopped on the side of the street, head turning to look a pair of women that walked by. Jason made a note without looking, flipped the page. In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

On the street below, the man stepped away from the wall, made his way down the street. Jason followed, moving from rooftop to rooftop, never losing sight.

His phone buzzed again, didn’t stop buzzing. Jason growled, watched the man as he slipped into a cafe. Hopefully, he’d be there for a while.

He opened his phone and frowned at the twenty texts waiting for him.

_I found him,_ Tim’s read. _Go home_

Then, another one.

_Please. They need you._

Jason groaned, low in his throat and set the binoculars down. He cursed under his breath for a few moments before dialing Tim.

The phone rang, rang and rang, voicemail picking up after five rings. Jason ended the call, tried again, again, again.

He cursed, dialed Dick, tapped his fingers on the phone.

“Pick _up_ damn you”

“Hello,” Dick said and Jason’s phone case cracked a little. Dick sounded _tired_.

“What the _fuck_ is going on,” he said, tone loosing its edge just a bit.

Dick sighed and Jason felt it in his bones.

“Tim’s gone,” he said.

_They’ll need you,_ Tim’s text had said.

“Where?”

Already his hands were disassembling the rifle and tucking it inside his bag. He had driven here, had needed the space and time to clear his thoughts, would need that time again.

“We don’t know,” Dick said. “He and Bruce had a fight. Then he left.”

Jason could hear him breathe over the phone, quiet and near tears.

“Gimme a few days,” he said, zipping up the bag. “I’m on my way." 

* * *

Damian scratched the dog behind the ears, other hand tapping the pencil against his sketchpad. The house had finally fallen silent, yet unease still swam through his blood.

Next to him, Titus whuffed, nudging his cold nose against Damian’s hand to get him to scratch the top of his head. Damian closed his eyes, traced a memory of Titus trapped in a tree in spring, tensed up as the door opened.

Father stepped out and abruptly Damian realized that he could see the bones in his wrists jut out sharply. He shuffled over, tugging Titus’s collar back as the dog tried to lick at his father’s hand.

"Can I sit,” his father asked and Damian nodded, widening the gap between them even further.

His father glanced at the space, at Damian’s grip on Titus’ collar and his shoulders slumped. Next to Damian, Titus whined and strained forward, dipping into a bow as he tried to wriggle out of Damian’s grasp.

“Titus,” Damian said sharply, tightening his grip. “No!”

Across from him, his father swallowed, before carefully reaching out a hand.

“May I?”

He gestured towards the collar and Titus stilled, blinking up at them with wide eyes. Silently, Damian let go of the collar and Titus bounded forwards, tried to lick at his father’s face.

His father flinched and moved backwards, squeezing his eyes shut as he inhaled harshly. Titus whined, shuffled backwards before slowly lowering himself to the ground, nearly flat, looking up with large eyes.

His father sighed, exhaled slowly, inhaled again; repeated this for a few more moments before lifting his hand and stretching it out slowly to stroke the top of Titus’ head.

Slowly, carefully, Titus rolled over, exposing his belly. His father swallowed, scratched Titus’ belly, slowly moving up to stroke his throat and then down again.

Damian swallowed tears and turned back to his sketchpad.

“I wasn’t going to stay up there forever,” his father said quietly and Damian’s pencil made a dark slash across the page.

He looked up, leaning forward and setting the pad aside. His father’s gaze was fixed on Titus, the dog flat on his back, paws in the air. His father hummed a little and Titus rolled over to lean against him, carefully licking at his hand.

“Alfred locked me out of the computer and I….”

His father broke the silence again and Damian squeezed his hands into his knees, leaning a little into the space between them before pulling back and straightening. His mind filled in the blanks in the silence, the sentence left unfinished.

“The cave on the moon is not sustainable for long-term use.”

_“He hasn’t been taking them,”_ Tim had said, pointing at the pill bottle.

They had brought it with them to the island, had put in the bag Alfred had packed. He’d probably thought it was tampered with, after waking up alone, the remnants of the drugs still in his system.

Damian’s stomach churned and he swallowed down bile as he rose, gripping the pad tightly. His father tensed and Damian gripped the pad tighter as he walked past him, careful to keep some empty space between them.

“I have assignments to do,” he said. “Please bring Titus in when you’re finished.”

The door shut behind him and Damian leaned against it, letting himself shake. He peeled his fingers away from the pad and looked at the beginnings of the sketch. The dark line sliced it unevenly separating his father from the house. He swallowed again, let his face fall into his palms and tried to breathe. 

* * *

In the cold light of dawn, the house’s shadows seemed ready to devour him. Carefully, he stepped into the kitchen, the wood floor of the hallway creaking beneath his feet.

He stilled, breath heavy in his chest, house still quiet. Alfred would be up soon.

_“You can’t even protect yourself Master Bruce! How do you expect to protect the city?”_

He shook his head, an ache starting up just underneath his eyebrows and took another step forward, exhaling slow and soundless.

He stepped up to the cabinet, floor numbing his toes, and stretched upwards to quietly swing the door open and retrieve a bowl.

The only open box of cereal in the pantry was the “sugary death trap” that Tim insisted on eating; Damian’s words not his. He poured it into the bowl, the sound echoing in his bones. Carefully, he put the cereal back, hand lingering on the box.

There was a creaking sound in the direction of the staircase and his head snapped up, neck twinging as he twisted to face the door. The stair light was on, diffusing into the still dark hallway. It was time for Alfred to prepare for the day.

He picked up the bowl and glanced around. Footsteps came from the hallway and quickly, he slipped through the other door, closing it softly behind him.

He inhaled, stale guano, stone and darkness coating his lungs. Cold crawled upwards, starting to numb his knees.

In the kitchen, the light switched on, it’s glow diffusing onto the landing. The stairs behind him dropped sharply, darkness retreating deeper down.

The sound of the door opening, of boxes being moved around.

“I thought none of you touched this stuff,” Jason grumbled, slamming the door shut.

Bruce knew he had heard the sound of an engine in the middle of the night.

_“Go back to bed Master Bruce. It’s nothing.”_

Alfred’s body blocking his way out, watching him as he shuffled off to bed. He was still locked out of the computer.

“We haven’t”

Dick’s voice, confused sleepiness. He was never properly awake until after the sun had fully risen.

“The only one who eats it is….”

He trailed off, the sound of a yawn cutting off his words.

“Well he’s not here,” Jason snapped, shaking the box, plastic crinkling, accusing. “ _You_ said he hadn’t been here since _last week_. The box is empty.”

“So?”

“ _Yesterday_ ,” Jason hissed, “was _Monday_. Alfred _always_ goes shopping on Mondays.”

Bruce leaned on the wall, where plaster met stone, and slumped, the stone leaching away some of the tension in his temples.

The argument continued, voices rising and falling and his eyes closed, body sliding down. Here, in the space between the manor and the cave, it almost felt like being on the moon.

Then, his grip loosened, the bowl falling with a thunderous crash, cereal clattering down the stairs. He jumped, nearly overbalanced, wound up on his knees.

Light poured into the room, door bouncing against the wall, Jason’s hand slapping against it.

Dick stepped in, blocked the light.

“Bruce,” he said, inhaling sharply.

Broken ceramic filled the gap between them, a tumultuous ocean.

Jason propped the door open with a foot and leaned forward.

“Shit,” he said.

“I’ll get Alfred.”

Dick turned and he shot to his feet, skin catching on jagged edges and ripping.

“No!”

Broken shards made their homes in his skin, blood outlining his feet. Dick turned back, stopped, swallowed down what he wanted to say.

His pulse squeezed through his arteries, a rushing sensation moving downwards. His feet felt hot.

“Hold this” -Jason rapped on the door- “I’ll get the broom.”

Dick moved back, gripped the door. He took a step forward, slipping.

“Stay still,” Dick snapped, fear injected into every syllable.

“You’ll make it worse,” he continued in a gentler tone.

Part of him wanted to keep stepping forward, to let the ceramic embed itself in his skin, embrace the sparkles of pain that temporarily split the velvet that coated the world.

The other part of him stayed still, kept an eye on Dick, measured each and every shift in his breath.

“What have you gotten yourself into _this_ time Master Bruce?”

Alfred

His throat locked, mouth clamped shut, teeth digging into his lower lip. He stepped backwards, slipping on the floor, fresh blood glistening.

“Whoa,” Dick said, taking a step forward and Bruce froze. Dick was barefoot and his blood and ceramic were all over the floor.

“Don’t,” he snapped at Dick, arm sweeping out to encompass the debris. “It’s dangerous!”

He hadn’t been taking his pills; how dangerous would his blood be?

_“Your blood is tainted. You are tainted.”_

Words that he had to convince himself that Clark never said, real as they were.

“I’ve got the broom,” Jason said, tossing a pair of slippers to Dick.

Bruce swallowed, leaning against the wall and pressing his fingers, hard into the rapidly warming stone.

Jason stepped into the room, boots crunching on the floor as he started to sweep with gloved hands.

He opened his mouth, shut it, watched Jason sweep. The house pressed onto him, intangible weight solidifying with every passing second. It burned against his skin, callused and slick with sweat. Dust and stale paper mixed with the faint scent of gunpowder.

Far away, something dripped. 

* * *

This far south, the sun burned. Tim stared at his skin in the mirror, bare bulb flickering over his head. Red and puckered, the burn peeled away at the edges, skin rising up in torn flakes.

His hands shook as he applied the burn cream, a pulsing beginning on his left eyelid.

A sharp sting, then coolness, served to wake him him better than coffee.

A ringing emanated from within his closet, muffled by layers of clothing and sheets. The phone, one of the few things he had taken with him.

It rang again, louder and more shrill. His teeth ached from the sound as he shut off the bathroom light and stepped into the bedroom.

In the darkest reaches of the room lay the closet. The floor creaked as he walked, the carpet emitting a musty smell that rose in his wake.

Dust sank into his lungs when he opened the door. The phone’s shrill tone sending another spike of pain through his head. The eyelid twitching grew stronger and he groaned as he bent over to dig out the phone.

It stopped ringing just as he picked it up and he growled at it, moving to fling it back into the pile. Instead, he unlocked it as it buzzed in his hand.

_He’s not looking for you_ , Jason’s text read. _He told us to stop too. Said you needed space or some shit._

Tim blinked, hard. Even after everything, Bruce had respected his wishes and he couldn’t do the same.

Bile churned in his stomach, splashed against the back of his throat as it got harder to breathe and he closed his eyes tightly, taking a deep breath.

_Does he want me_ , he typed with shaking fingers, staring at the phone for a long time before squeezing it tightly and dropping it on the bed.

He didn’t notice as his thumb pressed down on send, instead walking away from the bed and pulling on his shoes, casting a brief glance before stepping out of the room and locking the door.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an awful au.
> 
> If you want author discussion, you can find it at [here](http://writingfish.tumblr.com/tagged/writing-memories-of-light)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Memories of Light- Podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7586002) by [RinRin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinRin/pseuds/RinRin)




End file.
